CHAPTER III.--THE IRONY OF FATE.
It has been well said that the heresies of one generation are theorthodox standards of the next; and it is equally true that the greatconvulsive waves of emotion, belief, patriotic aspiration or progressiveemulation of the leaders of thought of one age, for which they aremartyred by the conventionally stupid majority, become the watchwordsand uncontrovertible basis of belief for the succeeding generation ofthe respectably unthinking, and furnish afresh, alas! the means, themotives and the power for the crucifixion of the prophets and thinkersof the new cycle. Mediocrity is forever sure that nothing better orloftier is in store. Genius sees eternal progress in perpetual change.
Much of the doings and many of the sayings of the new religious sectseemed to the people about them full of heresy, dangerous in tendency,and, indeed, blasphemous in its enthusiasms and its belief in and effortfor an intimate personal relationship with a prayer-answering and apraise-loving God. To Grif, Brother Prout's fervor and enthusiasm ofexpression, his prayers which seemed the friendly communications ofone who in deed and in truth walked with his God, instead of the old,perfunctory, formal reading of set phrases arranged for special days,which had to be hunted up in a book and responded to by all in exactlythe same words, and with the same utter want of personal feeling, toGrif, these fervid, passionate, sincere and simple appeals of the kindold enthusiast seemed like the very acme and climax of a faith whichmight, indeed, move mountains.
"Amen! amen!"
"Praise the Lord, O my soul!"
"Thanks be to Almighty Godt" echoed along the banks of the river, theloved Opquan, that had been to Grif a friend and companion from hisearliest boyhood. He had never stood by its banks without an onrushof feeling that had tended to burst into a song of joy! From hisgrandfather's front porch and from the windows of his own room at homehe could see it winding through the rocky hills and struggling for itsright to reach the sea. He had skipped pebbles on it and waded across itat low tide, and had stood in awe at its angry and impetuous swirl whenthe spring rains had swollen it to a torrent of irresistible force. Itseemed to Grif now that its waters smiled at him, and his eyes filledwith tears that were of happiness not unmixed with a tender pain andregret--regret for he knew not what.
"Joy to the world, the Lord has come!" rang out with a volume and animpassioned sincerity which gave no room for the critical ear of themusician nor for the carping brain of the skeptic, had either been thereto hear. "Let earth receive her King!" The hills in the distance tookup the melody, and it seemed to the overwrought nerves of the boythat nothing so beautiful in all the world had ever been seen or heardbefore. "Let every heart prepare Him room, and heaven and nature sing!"Ah, was not heaven and nature, indeed, singing the most glorious songthe earth had ever heard or seen when she made this valley? When shebuilt these mountains, and threaded that little river over the stones?Griffith was lost in an intoxication of soul and sense. He was lookingacross the valley to the old home. His hands were clenched until thenails were marking the palms, and his voice rang out so clear and truethat the neighborhood boys touched each other and motioned toward theyoung fellow with almost a sense of envy. Neither cultured musician norcynic was there, and the softness of the air lent charm to the simpleexercises which some of the youths had come in a spirit of fun toderide. It was restful to the weary, stimulating to the sluggish andsoothing to the unhappy. They were carried out of their narrow andmonotonous lives. If Griffith's heart had been sore and in a conditionto be soothed by the words and prayers of Father Prout, how much morewere his nerves and emotions in that unstrung and vaguely woundedand impressionable state where physical change and reaction is easilymistaken for religious fervor or exaltation, how much more was he inthat state where melody joined to nature's most profligate mood ofbeauty in scene leads captive the soul!
During the meeting which had followed his arrival at the camp-groundGrif had passed through that phase of physical reaction which meant tohim a "leading of the spirit" and, as he stood now on the banks of hisbeloved river pouring out his young heart in the hymn of his boyishfancy, he no longer doubted that he had, indeed, been "called" to bea circuit rider and to cast his lot with the new order of religionsenthusiasts. He looked now upon his previous doubts as temptations ofthe devil and put, once and for all, their whisperings behind him andaccepted the new lot as heaven and God-sent and intended.
Father Prout gave to all of his converts a choice in the form oftheir baptism. Leaning, himself, toward immersion, he still held thatsprinkling was sufficient and with a lingering memory of his father'sfling at "ducking converts in the creek," Griffith had determined to besprinkled; but, as the last echoes of the old hymn died away, he steppedto the bank and indicated that he would be immersed. As he arose fromthe water his face was radiant, and when he had removed his immersionrobe his eyes filled with happy tears as his father rode up to the edgeof the grounds and held out his arms to the boy.
"My son," he said tremulously, "my son, forgive me. I have been unhappyall night. I did not realize that I was swearing at you until yourmothah told me. Come home, my boy, and your new friends will be welcomeat Rock Hall. God bless you, my son, come home, your mothah is unhappy."
Mr. Lengthy Patterson, a long-legged, cadaverous mountaineer who hadwended his way from the distant fastnesses of the high perched logcabin which he called home and wherein he ate and slept when he wasnot engaged in those same occupations out under the stars wherenight--during his hunting and fishing expeditions--chanced to overtakehim, had been watching Grif all day. The boy's radiant face the pasthour had fascinated him. In his absorption he had stepped so close tothe old Major as he and Grif stood making ready for the homeward ride,that Mr. Davenport made an instinctive gesture of impatient disapprovalwhich called the naturally deferential woodsman back to his normalmental state.
"It is Lengthy Patterson, father," said Griffith, with his ever-readyimpulse to cover the confusion of the unlucky or ignorant who wereintrusive without a knowledge of the fact until a recognition ofdisapproval made self-consciousness painful.
Mr. Davenport moved as if to make amends for his previous manner by anoffer to shake hands with the mountaineer--an unheard-of proceeding onthe 'Squire's part.
"Oh, it's Lengthy Patterson, is it? I beg your pahrdon, Mr. a--Lengthy.I did not recognize you at--"
The long legs had moved slowly away. He turned around, tilted his halfrimless hat further on to the back of his head, in lieu of liftingit, and in a voice as evenly graded to one single note as is that of aflying loon, remarked, as he kept on his way:
"No excuse. Say nothin'. Few words comprehends the whole."
"What did that fellow say, Grif?" asked his father, as they mounted.
Griffith laughed rather hysterically. The reaction was coming.
"It's just a phrase he has, father. They say he never was known to sayanything else; but I expect that is a joke. He's an honest fellow anda splendid woodsman. He knows every crack in the mountains, and is aperfect terror to rattlesnakes. Don't you remember? He is the fellowwho saved the old Randolph house that time it took fire, and got thechildren out. They say when Mrs. Randolph went away up to his cabin tothank him, he remarked that 'a few words comprehended the whole,' andfled the mountain until he was sure she had gone. He appears to beafraid of the English language and of nothing else on earth."
There was a long silence. The old Major was turned half out of hissaddle, as was a habit of his, to rest himself. The horses were takingtheir own gait. Presently they turned a curve in the road and Grifsuddenly threw his arm across his father's shoulder and leaned far overtoward him. "Kiss me, father," he said, and before the moisture haddried out of their eyes and the great lump left their throats, bothlaughed a little in that shame-faced fashion men have when, with eachother, they have yielded to their natural and tender emotions. Butboth horses understood and broke into a steady lope, and the chasm wasbridged.
"Dars Mos' Grif! Dars Mos' Grif an' ole Mos'!" exclaimed Jerry as he saw
the two horsemen in the distance. "Dey comin', Mis' Sallie, dey is dat!Lawsy me, Mis' Sallie, dey want no uste fer yo' ter be skeered dat away 'bout Mos' Grif. He's des dat staidy dat yo' c'd cahry wattah on hehaid, let er 'lone Selim ain't gwine ter let no trouble come ter Mos'Grif. But I dus 'low dat'e oughter a tuck dis chile erlong wid'im terlook arter'im, dough. Dat's a fack. I knows dat. Run inter de kitchen,Lippy Jane, an' tell yo' maw dat Mos' Grif an' ole Mos' mose heah, an'she better git dem dar chicken fixins all raidy quick as ebber she kin.Dey gwine ter be hongry, sho's yo' bohn, dey is dat."
Lippy Jane sped away on her errand with that degree of enthusiasm whichsprang from a consciousness of bearing a welcome message to expectantlisteners, when suddenly, as she passed a group of idle compeers, oneof the boys flung upon her lower lip, where it lodged and dangled insquirming response to her every motion, a long yellow apple peeling. Shedid not pause in her onward course, but called back in belligerent tonesat the offender:
"I des gwine ter lef dat erlone dar, now, an' show hit ter Mos' Grif! Iis dat! You nasty little nigger!" and she reappeared, after giving hermessage in the kitchen, with the pendant peel still reposing upon thesuperfluous portion of the feature to which she was indebted for hername.