The Friendly Road [20]
Doodle." First I saw the top of a black hat rising over the rim of the hill. This was followed quickly by a black tie, a long black coat, black trousers, and, finally, black shoes. I admit I was shaken, but being a person of iron nerve in facing such phenomena, I continued to play "Yankee Doodle." In spite of this counter-attraction, toward which all four boys turned uneasy glances, I held my audience. The Black Spectre, with a black book under its arm, drew nearer. Still I continued to play and nod my head and tap my toe. I felt like some modern Pied Piper piping away the children of these modern hills--piping them away from older people who could not understand them.
I could see an accusing look on the Spectre's face. I don't know what put it into my head, and I had no sooner said it I was sorry for my levity, but the figure with the sad garments there in the matchless and triumphant spring day affected me with a curious, sharp impatience. Had any one the right to look out so dolefully upon such a day and such a scene of simple happiness as this? So I took my whistle from my lips and asked:
"Is God dead?"
I shall never forget the indescribable look of horror and astonishment that swept over the young man's face.
"What do you mean, sir?" he asked with an air of stern authority which surprised me. His calling for the moment lifted him above himself: it was the Church which spoke.
I was on my feet in an instant, regretting the pain I had given him; and yet it seemed worth while now, having made my inadvertent remark, to show him frankly what lay in my mind. Such things sometimes help men.
"I meant no offence, sir," I said, "and I apologize for my flummery, but when I saw you coming up the hill, looking so gloomy and disconsolate on this bright day, as though you disapproved of God's world, the question slipped out before I knew it."
My words evidently struck deep down into some disturbed inner consciousness, for he asked--and his words seemed to slip out before he thought:
"Is THAT the way I impressed you?"
I found my heart going out strongly toward him. "Here," I thought to myself, "is a man in trouble."
I took a good long look at him. He still a young man, though worn-looking--and sad as I now saw it, rather than gloomy--with the sensitive lips and the unworldly look one sees sometimes in the faces of saints. His black coat was immaculately neat, but the worn button-covers and the shiny lapels told their own eloquent story. Oh, it seemed to me I knew him as well as if every incident of his life were written plainly upon his high, pale forehead! I have lived long in a country neighbourhood, and I knew him--poor flagellant of the rural church--I knew how he groaned under the sins of a Community too comfortably willing to cast all its burdens on the Lord, or on the Lord's accredited local representative. I inferred also the usual large family and the low salary (scandalously unpaid) and the frequent moves from place to place.
Unconsciously heaving a sigh the young man turned partly aside and said to me in a low, gentle voice:
"You are detaining my boys from church."
"I am very sorry," I said, "and I will detain them no longer," and with that I put aside my whistle, took up my bag and moved down the hill with them.
"The fact is," I said, "when I heard your bell I thought of going to church myself."
"Did you?" he asked eagerly. "Did you?"
I could see that my proposal of going to church had instantly affected his spirits. Then he hesitated abruptly with a sidelong glance at my bag and rusty clothing. I could see exactly what was passing in his mind.
"No," I said, smiling, as though answering a spoken question, "I am not exactly what you would call a tramp."
He flushed.
"I didn't mean--I WANT you to come. That's what a church is for. If I thought--"
But he did not tell me what he thought; and, though he walked quietly at my side, he was evidently deeply disturbed. Something of his discouragement I sensed even then, and I don't think I was ever sorrier for a man in my
I could see an accusing look on the Spectre's face. I don't know what put it into my head, and I had no sooner said it I was sorry for my levity, but the figure with the sad garments there in the matchless and triumphant spring day affected me with a curious, sharp impatience. Had any one the right to look out so dolefully upon such a day and such a scene of simple happiness as this? So I took my whistle from my lips and asked:
"Is God dead?"
I shall never forget the indescribable look of horror and astonishment that swept over the young man's face.
"What do you mean, sir?" he asked with an air of stern authority which surprised me. His calling for the moment lifted him above himself: it was the Church which spoke.
I was on my feet in an instant, regretting the pain I had given him; and yet it seemed worth while now, having made my inadvertent remark, to show him frankly what lay in my mind. Such things sometimes help men.
"I meant no offence, sir," I said, "and I apologize for my flummery, but when I saw you coming up the hill, looking so gloomy and disconsolate on this bright day, as though you disapproved of God's world, the question slipped out before I knew it."
My words evidently struck deep down into some disturbed inner consciousness, for he asked--and his words seemed to slip out before he thought:
"Is THAT the way I impressed you?"
I found my heart going out strongly toward him. "Here," I thought to myself, "is a man in trouble."
I took a good long look at him. He still a young man, though worn-looking--and sad as I now saw it, rather than gloomy--with the sensitive lips and the unworldly look one sees sometimes in the faces of saints. His black coat was immaculately neat, but the worn button-covers and the shiny lapels told their own eloquent story. Oh, it seemed to me I knew him as well as if every incident of his life were written plainly upon his high, pale forehead! I have lived long in a country neighbourhood, and I knew him--poor flagellant of the rural church--I knew how he groaned under the sins of a Community too comfortably willing to cast all its burdens on the Lord, or on the Lord's accredited local representative. I inferred also the usual large family and the low salary (scandalously unpaid) and the frequent moves from place to place.
Unconsciously heaving a sigh the young man turned partly aside and said to me in a low, gentle voice:
"You are detaining my boys from church."
"I am very sorry," I said, "and I will detain them no longer," and with that I put aside my whistle, took up my bag and moved down the hill with them.
"The fact is," I said, "when I heard your bell I thought of going to church myself."
"Did you?" he asked eagerly. "Did you?"
I could see that my proposal of going to church had instantly affected his spirits. Then he hesitated abruptly with a sidelong glance at my bag and rusty clothing. I could see exactly what was passing in his mind.
"No," I said, smiling, as though answering a spoken question, "I am not exactly what you would call a tramp."
He flushed.
"I didn't mean--I WANT you to come. That's what a church is for. If I thought--"
But he did not tell me what he thought; and, though he walked quietly at my side, he was evidently deeply disturbed. Something of his discouragement I sensed even then, and I don't think I was ever sorrier for a man in my