XIX.--THE WEB OF LACHESIS
The sun was shining level through the tree-tops when they began tofish. In fifteen minutes the bishop called a halt, dipped a bucket ofwater and washed his hands. Clark, still under the spell of this newfriendship, saw the great amethyst of the episcopal ring gleamingsoftly amid the glint of fish scales, and dimly remembered the story ofthe Man and the Galilean fisher folk whose catch was poor till He toldthem where to cast. Presently the bishop stripped and went overboardinto the brown water with a clean schloop, where he was instantlyfollowed by his guest.
Here they played like schoolboys, shouting and blowing in utterphysical abandonment, while the copper colored pilot stared at themwith expressionless eyes and wondered mutely why people wanted to getso wet.
The bishop was like an otter, swimming under water a long way toreappear with a sharp whistle in an unexpected place. Soon the firstflush of Clark's enjoyment passed. He felt suddenly tired and turnedtoward the Evangeline, where a small wooden ladder had been let downjust athwart the cabin cockpit. And in that instant he felt a sharpand agonizing pain.
"Help!" he called. "Help!!" A deadly stiffness was stealing from footto knee.
The bishop heard, rolled over on his back and, treading water, sawClark's face. The lips were puffed out, the head bent back and he wassplashing desperately.
"Hang on to it, I'm coming," roared the big man, and, laying his rightshoulder forward; began to tear through the water. Like a tug he came,with a bubble of foam around his head, half his face submerged, hispowerful arms and legs working like pistons. Such was the power in himthat at each stroke his great body seemed to lift and fling itselfforward, and behind him broadened a long, diamond shaped ripple thatslid whispering to the shore. The next moment sounded a voice, as froma long way off:
"Put your arms straight out--rest your palms on my shoulders. When Iturn, trail your body and don't try to do anything. That's it." Thebishop was breathing hard, but not in any way distressed.
They moved toward the yacht and Clark felt beneath his hands theworking of big, flexible muscles, and the buoyant surge of thepracticed swimmer who glides with the minimum of effort and resistance.In five minutes he was scarifying his skin with a rough towel andtingled with renewing circulation.
"You saved my life that time," he said earnestly.
The bishop pulled his shirt over his head. "Well, that's my business,isn't it? and I fancy it's about the only thing I can do for a man likeyou. Let's have some breakfast. I smell fish."
Clark, in spite of his late experience, ate as he seldom ate, for therewere two things at which Indian Joe was a master--pilotage and cooking.The visitor asked for more, silently deciding that his Japanese mustgo, being no such artist as this.
"You're using royal silver," said his host presently with a grin. "Ibought this boat from the agent of a certain august personage for whomshe had grown too small, and I got everything complete. She has abronze propeller and copper rivets. I've got the royal burgee too, andfly it only on special occasions."
The other man smiled and nodded. It did not somehow seem strange tohim to be using royal silver in a remote bay on Lake Huron. Somethingabout the bishop made it appropriate. Then they lifted anchor and theEvangeline moved on under a climbing sun and over a laughing sea forten miles till she nosed into a creaking dock and made fast. Justbeyond was the settlement, from which the parson came hurrying down,followed by others. Clark looked at him, a lean, overworked man, withrusty clothes and joy in his face, and remembered for the first time inhis life that here was one fashioned in all ways like unto himself.
"I'm off into the country to visit for a few hours," said the bishop,introducing him. "You can come if you like, but it's not a good road,and I would advise you to stay where you are. Joe will take youfishing and there is plenty to read in the bookshelf. I can recommendHenry Drummond or Marcus Aurelius. Good-by!"
He drove off in a rattling buckboard, and the woods swallowed him. Alittle crowd had gathered in the dock, glancing after the bishop andthen down at the slender deck of the Evangeline. The stranger lookedup at them, nodded and disappeared. Presently Joe stretched an awningover the long boom of the main mast, and Clark sat in the shadelistening to the silence and surveying this isolated village. What, hewondered, could keep people in so forgotten a community, with itsunpaved street, its straggling wooden houses, its background ofunbroken bush. There was no water power, no big timber, and, from thelook of the country, no mineral. He put the thought out of his mindwith luxurious deliberation and tried to decipher why a man like thebishop should waste his time here when, without doubt, he could be ashining light in a great city. After a little the reason became clear,and, smiling to himself, he reached up for Marcus Aurelius.
They supped that night at the parsonage, where they yielded to thestark simplicity of new surroundings. The parson with his wife andchildren regarded the bishop with their eyes in which love andreverence were clearly mingled. At the stranger they looked a littleinsecurely, for the bishop had, that afternoon, told who he was. Theyhad heard of him already, and in this remote village his person hadbeen invested with mysterious powers. He was a force of which theyread, rather than a living, breathing man, so that however he might tryto talk affably and communicably, he found himself hedged about with aspiny growth of fame that the others made but little attempt topenetrate. His garment of authority and influence was too great. Hewas too big and didn't fit.
Later came service in the bare, wooden church, and for the second timehe saw the prelate in robes of office. The sun was setting and itslevel beams filled the tiny edifice with a softened glow. Overhead thesky was like a benison, while the bishop spoke words of cheer andstrength that went straight to the hearts of his congregation. Hestood, as he always stood, in front of the chancel, a great figure inwhite and scarlet, with a deep mellow voice that seemed to dissolve inthe hush of evening like a lingering caress. Clark, in his corner, satmotionless, touched as he had seldom been touched before. He began tosee why the bishop spent his life in this wilderness.
Service done, the Evangeline moved out over a sea that was sheer, flatsilver. Indian Joe sat motionless at the wheel, the spokes pressedlightly against his polished palm. At the engine room hatch avoiceless Scotchman smoked a contemplative pipe, and for the rest of itthere was only the muffled thud of the propeller, the subdued stroke ofthe engine and the whisper of split water at the yacht's knifelikestem. Clark did not speak. It seemed as the yacht slipped on, that hewas exploring, a kingdom in which the population and their ways werehitherto unknown to him; a domain that was pathetic rather thanpoor--and remote from his scheme of things. He had given this phase oflife no thought till the bishop introduced him to it, and was puzzledthat both men and women could be so deprived of the salt of life andyet be apparently content. The bishop's voice broke his reverie.
"Did you ever consider how much those with imagination owe to those whohave none?"
Clark started a little, then shook his head. "No, I haven't."
"Isn't it true?"
"It may be--but I don't see what there is to create any obligation."
"Well, you're discharging it every day. You create things primarilyfor yourself, but actually what you do is to create opportunities forothers less endowed with imaginative power. And whatever may be theultimate scope or result of your work at St. Marys, that is the highestservice it will ever perform. And, by the way, my friends seemed alittle afraid of you at supper, though I assured them you wereperfectly harmless. Do you mind telling me if you got any impressions?"
"About the events of the day?"
"Partly. I'm wondering just what people like these suggest to a man ofyour sort. Is it all very drab and uneventful?"
"Well," said Clark thoughtfully, "it is something like that, isn't it?"
"I thought so once, but that's just what I don't now admit, and urgethat this is a case where we should consider comparative values.Satisfacti
on is not, after all, so much a matter of the size or qualityof the thing that satisfies, as it is of the individual who is affectedand his circumstances. Small joys go a long way on Manitoulin Island."
"But are people who live like this not conscious of any deprivation?"
"It's not so much that as it is wonder what it would be like to owncertain things or comforts. You don't find much envy in the bushcountry, but you do find a lot of self-respect. I could tell youthings about some Indian friends of mine that would clear your mind, ifyou happen to think that the only good Indian is a dead one. It seemsto me that life in the open, even though a great part of it is spent inexposure and hardship, has certain spiritual compensations."
Clark nodded. "Perhaps."
"Put it this way; you deal with many kinds of men, but do you notalways feel better disposed toward a simple soul, say like our friendFisette, than toward some shrewd person who arms himself at everyconceivable point?"
"Yes, I do."
"Well, that's what I feel about my people. Most of them are unarmedand they trust me, and anything I can do seems small in comparison tothat trust. You've got a trust too, my friend."
Clark smiled. "That's what my directors lose no opportunity of tellingme."
"But who or what is your Director?" asked the bishop, leaning forwardearnestly. "You needn't be anxious, I'm not going to sermonize. YourDirector is the same as mine, the great Force, call it what you will.It drove me into the church and drove you to what you are, and ourfirst trust is to ourselves--you'll agree with me there--and with thatundischarged nothing else can be carried out. Just at this moment Iwish I were as competent for my job as you are for yours."
"But, bishop, you're--"
The big man raised his hand. "Not a word, for tonight I feel likeBrowning's Bishop Blougram who 'rolled him out a mind long crumpled,till creased consciousness lay smooth.' It does me good to rub out thewrinkles occasionally. Now tell me, looking back at the last few yearsin St. Marys, do you appreciate what you've done?"
"I haven't had much time to look back," said Clark thoughtfully. "Theopportunity was there and I took it, then I was fortunate enough toenlist the necessary support. Since that time the district seems tohave responded to every conceivable need, and we have been able to fallin step with a natural scheme for developing natural resources, that'sall."
The bishop shook his head. "Not quite: it's a great drama you'reenacting up there, with the rapids for a setting. They run through itall, don't they?--the changeless, elemental background before which manclimbs up on the stage, makes his bow, enacts his part and gives placeto some one else. You are sending out multitudes of influences thatwill never be determined or traced to their result. You once told methat it all began when you overheard a conversation in a train."
"Yes," Clark paused, then added with a laugh, "an example of theimportance of small things. You've made your point, bishop."
"Thank you, but I've never been able to decide whether a thing is smallor not. Some of the things that you and I prize very highly mayactually be of small account."
For a while Clark did not answer. Ever since coming on board theEvangeline he had been conscious of a new atmosphere, tenanted by thespirit of her master, and of a new language which, though its toneswere familiar, seemed to be the vehicle of a novel wisdom andunderstanding. He was impressed with the utter candor of his host, butchiefly with his superlative sympathy with all men. The visitor fellunder the influence of a benign nature which, intensely human in allits attributes, proffered its solace to all alike. It was, heconcluded, the life function of the bishop to give himself in royalabandonment.
He did not often put himself in the place of other men, but that night,after the Evangeline had slid into a moon spilt harbor amongst thehills, and the bishop explained that he had come here because poorpeople were apt to overtax themselves in entertaining, the visitor layon the cock pit cushions and stared long at the starry sky. Nothingimportant was to be attached to this trip, and yet he felt it to bemomentous. He knew he would always remember it, and that the memorywould hereafter assert itself in unexpected moments. He admitted beinginfluenced by the bishop and yet felt equipped for all that he had todo without any such influence. But there crept over him the slowconception that life might unexpectedly change, and that under hithertounimagined conditions he might turn to these hours for the comfort ofremembrance.
Three more days of missionary work and the Evangeline turned homeward,Clark took the wheel for an hour, with the bishop beside him.
"I hope," said the latter, "that the trip has been a success for you?"
The amateur pilot gave an involuntary start. The question pitched hismind forward to the works, and he realized that for five days he hadforgotten all about them.
"It has been a very great pleasure to me," went on the prelate quietly."I'm apt to have too much broadcloth and not enough gray tweed in mylife. Most of us are in the same case, and one's love of one's workdoes not suffer by an interest in other things."
"My dear sir, I've benefited enormously. I'm a new man and ready foranything--even the worst." How little did he dream that at that verymoment Lachesis was spinning her invisible web.
"Ah! that's what we must always be ready for--or the best, which issometimes the same thing. Keep her to port a little."
The yacht rounded a long point and came in sight of the works, whileClark experienced a throb of thankfulness that his host had attemptedno missionary work on him. He was as good as his word. There had beenno proselytizing.
As the vessel reached the dock, they said good-by, each ready to do hisjob over again, and Clark, with his hand enveloped in the warm clasp,realized much of the secret of the prelate's life, which was no secretat all but just the benignity of a great and tender soul. He steppedover the yacht's side and glanced at his secretary who advanced to meethim with a telegram in his hand, noting that the young man's face waspale and his eyes unusually brilliant.
"This came an hour ago, sir."
With an impatient gesture he opened the folded sheet and read, hisheart slowly contracting:
Regret unable to accept first cargo of rails being five thousand tons.These not up to your guarantee and our specifications. Fullinformation this mail with the result of physical and chemical tests.
UNITED RAILWAY COMPANY.
Involuntarily he raised his head. The yacht was backing out, and thebishop, coiling a rope in her bows, straightened up to wave farewell.Automatically Clark waved back, then, with the telegram crumpled in hispalm, turned and walked slowly toward his office. Something the bishophad said began to sing in his brain. Could the best and the worst everbe the same thing?