CHAPTER X.
EVA BALDWIN was the most independent, the most democratic, and the most religious member of the Baldwin family. I use the word religious in its most practical sense. The Baldwins were all religious; they were all church-members; they all had the outside, the husk, the wrapper, of religion. With them, a costly house of worship, a silver-tongued preacher, the repetition of some high-sounding passages from God’s Word and the payment of a certain amount of money for church expenses—these things constituted religion.
The Baldwins, when it came to religion, were like a certain boy, who went chestnutting. He had never seen a chestnut, and he eagerly filled his basket with the great prickly burs, which the frost had opened, but never noticed the nuts themselves, which lay hidden under the leaves.
The Baldwins were very religious,—butif the Christ had come into Papyrus, the town which belonged to them, they would have given Him twenty-four hours notice to get out. He was a disturber in the vales of Judea, and He would have been too radical for the Lords of the Berkshire Hills. It would have become the painful duty of the round and sleek Deacon Surface, and the gaunt and spectral Sheriff Burse, on notice from the Baldwins, to order Him out.
But Eva—black-eyed Eva—differed from her kindred. She was not satisfied with the husk of Christianity. She was a constant thorn in the side of her brother, Zechariah, and in a less degree of her brother, David, the Congressman. Even between these two there was a great gulf. The Congressman believed in equal rights, except at home, and for his own workmen. None of the devices, some of them of almost Satanic ingenuity, by which the mill-hands of Papyrus were prevented from enjoying their just share in town-government, none of these devices, I say, could have succeeded,without Congressman Baldwin’s approval, through his confidential agent, the hundred-faced, oily-tongued Deacon Surface. None of these devices for stealing the workman’s vote won Eva Baldwin’s approval.
In looking—and she had not far to look—for worthy objects upon which to bestow her help, in a practical and sensible way, Eva Baldwin had long since found in Sprucemont, that little “deserted town� on the mountain-tops, an outlet for some of her benevolent impulses and surplus funds. A few generations ago Sprucemont had been one of the most prosperous towns on the hills, but influences which it would take too long to describe here had brought her very low, both in population and wealth. The church in Sprucemont had long since ceased to be self-supporting, and was dependent upon the generosity of Eva Baldwin and others of her kind.
To awaken the interest of natives of the town who had removed, to stir the pride of those remaining, and to attractbuyers for the abandoned farms, a celebration was planned in honor of the town’s settlement. For such an occasion it was only natural that the most distinguished native of the town, Reverend Ralph Cutter, filling a pulpit in Springdale, should be selected as the principal speaker.
The day came. Up the long hills toward Sprucemont Center climbed teams and vehicles of various descriptions. The newest automobile, the stylish and luxurious up-to-date carriage with liveried driver and sleek, well-groomed pair, and the pleasure-seeker’s four-horse tally-ho, these shared the mountain road with ancient specimens of the carriage-makers’ art, broken and repaired with conspicuous lack of skill, and drawn by animals to whom the currycomb and oat-bin seemed alike strangers. Between these extremes were the comfortable and tidy conveyances of the middle classes.
It was a perfect June day. The rock maples, the red beeches and the various birches were in their full summer luxuriance,and their light green foliage contrasted prettily with the darker, more somber shades of the spruce, the hemlock, and the balsam fir. The verdure of mowlands and pastures was sprinkled with the commonplace buttercups and daisies, while the roadside thickets were eloquent to the eye with the pink and white blossoms of the mountain laurel.
The forests echoed with the silver bell of the wood thrush, while the rollicking, bubbling melody of the bobolink, and the clear, sweet whistle of the meadow lark filled every wayside field.
The ancient meeting-house, where the services were held, was a fine specimen of old style, country church architecture. It had been built, nearly a century before, to accommodate eight hundred people, but the population of the town, had dwindled to half that number.
“The strength of the hills is His also.�
It was with these words of the Psalmist that Reverend Ralph Cutter began his review of the town’s history. No one seemed to realize that he spoke anhour. A library has been written about the best way to hold the attention of an audience. It might all be boiled down to this:—“Have something to say worth saying, and then say it in a way worth hearing.� Ralph Cutter knew his subject thoroughly. He could only give an outline of it in the time allotted to him; but, as little ten-year-old Jimmy Stetson said, “When Mr. Cutter tells an Indian story you feel as though the Red Skins were skulking around the church, and when he talks about bears you almost expect to hear ’em growl.�
“Aunt Lyddy� Buxton, who came early and had a seat near the pulpit, said:—“That’s the first time I have heard a minister in a year, although I go to church every Sunday. Thank God there’s now and then a minister who thinks it a part of his duty to make people hear.�
“That’s the minister I always like to hear,� said Farmer Gray. “I don’t have to go to a dictionary to find out what he means, and it’s all good, sober,solid sense, every word he has to say.�
The speaker did not occupy a minute more than the time allotted to him. For a minister, or any other speaker, to take time which belonged to others, Ralph Cutter considered no better than any other kind of stealing, and he never practiced it. He always kept within his allotted time. He had saved a few minutes in which to consider the future of the town.
“Every valley shall be exalted, and every mountain and every hill shall be made low.�
“I understand these words of Isaiah,� he said, “to be prophecy full of blessing to us all. These hills shall be brought low—that is to say, they shall be more easily reached. Not only this, but the working people in the cities shall be able to reach them. The time is coming, when the poorest one of our millions of laborers shall be able to enjoy a summer vacation, with his family, on these hills, or at the sea-shore, or wherever else on God’s beautiful earth he chooses to spendit. The multitudes, now scarcely earning their daily bread, shall not always toil to maintain the few in idleness and luxury. The good things, the best things of God’s bountiful earth shall be within reach of the toiling masses, not occasionally and sparingly, but at all times and in generous measure. The workman shall enjoy the full fruit of his labors. There shall be no idlers, as now, to fatten upon the laborers’ toil. God has provided an abundance for all His children, and the avarice of the few shall not always keep his gifts away from the many.
“Perhaps you will call this socialism, but it is Christianity also. I believe, in practice, we have scarcely learned the a b c of Christianity. I am not attacking the rights of property. I have no pet theories to advance. The present system, which allows one man to pile up hundreds of millions by getting control of steel or oil, while the working multitude are little better than slaves—this system, I say, cannot endure. It must fall. When we have learned, by experience,what true Christianity means, it may be that we shall get back very near to the starting-point of Christianity, when the disciples had all things common.
“Every mountain and hill shall be brought low—brought within reach of the toiling hosts of the valley. All these abandoned acres shall be tilled again. This temple shall again be filled with glad worshippers, as of old. The electric railway, which is leveling the hills everywhere, shall bring to these beautiful heights the tired and dusty dwellers in the city, for summer rest. This leveling process shall benefit the dwellers and toilers in the vales. Already the farm-house feels the throbbing life of the city, through the telephone and the daily mail. This is only the beginning. No one knows what the end may be.�
It was an eloquent address; eloquent in its pictures of history; eloquent in its present comfort; eloquent in its promise for the future, and it had a fitting and appreciative word for those outside thetown who had kept the fires of religion burning on this ancient altar. It had none of the marks of much of our present oratory—no foreign phrases; no words difficult to understand; no carefully poised periods; no words dropped nearly to a whisper. The prize pupil in elocution sometimes cannot be heard in the rear of the hall, while the speaker who makes himself clearly heard in all parts of the house goes home without even honorable mention. While mere noise is not oratory, yet Daniel Webster, Charles Sumner and George William Curtis always made themselves heard. The speaker’s concluding words were:—
“Let us be true to the God of our fathers, and the God of our fathers shall bless us.�
There was not a more interested listener than Eva Baldwin. All the old feeling which she had experienced during the speaker’s stay in Papyrus, and which she had tried to suppress since, came rushing back. She thought: “Why could not God have given to meto be the help-meet of such a man, even if He gave my millions to some one else?�
As for Ralph Cutter, he had been unjust to Miss Baldwin in allowing her wealth to place a barrier between them. The sight of her to-day fanned into flame again the old fires of his admiration, and he more than half resolved to seek an opportunity of renewing her acquaintance.
After the exercises, which closed early, several small parties visited Twin Mountain, which was near by. One of the parties included Reverend Ralph Cutter and another included the Baldwins. For a moment, and only for a moment, the parties met. The minister and the heiress saluted each other cordially and lingered after their parties had separated. She expressed regret that he had left Papyrus. He expressed regret that it had seemed best for him to leave, and then, something in her eyes seeming to warrant it, he added:
“I had hoped to become better acquaintedwith you, had I remained.�
“Did I place any obstacles in the way of our further acquaintance? I certainly did not intend to do so,� she replied, and there was no mistaking the frank, honest meaning in the black eyes.
“No, you did not. May I correspond with you?�
“Certainly.� She was laughing now; a laugh of relief and pleasure. “But do not forget, when circumstances permit, that a face to face meeting is a long way ahead of a letter.�
But the parties to which they belonged were getting farther and farther apart.
“You might return home with us,� she suggested. “You could take an evening train for Springdale.� And he very gladly assented.