The minister shook his head.
“If I believed as you do, deacon,” he said, “I could not close my eyes at night. I could not rejoice in the bright sunshine and glorious beauty of outward nature. I should put on sackcloth and ashes, and pour out my soul to God in earnest prayer that he would turn his soul from wrath.”
“I don’t feel like interferin’ with God’s arrangements. I’ve no doubt they’re for the best.”
“You think it best that all heathen and nineteen twentieths of those that live in Christian countries should be damned?” asked the minister with some vehemence.
“If it’s the Lord’s will,” said Deacon Peabody, in a sanctified tone, “I’m resigned to it.”
Deacon Peabody should have lived at least fifty years earlier. He found few of his contemporaries to agree with him in his rigid notions. Most of the parish sympathized rather with the milder theology of Mr. Wilson. Had it been otherwise, had the deacon thought it possible to obtain a preacher in harmony with his own stern views, he would have headed a movement to get rid of the minister. As it was, he contented himself with protesting, in public and private, against what he regarded as pernicious and blinding error.
This has been a long digression, but the deacon was a prominent man in Granville, and interesting as the representative of a class numerous in Puritan days.
When Mabel entered the deacon’s parlor, after school was over, she found some dozen ladies congregated, including the most prominent matrons of Granville. There were but two other young ladies besides Miss Frost. One of them was Miss Clarissa Bassett, the other a grown up daughter of the deacon — Miss Charity Peabody, who was noted for a lack of that virtue which had been given her as a designation. Mrs. Peabody, in strange contrast to her husband, had a heart overflowing with kindness. and was disposed to look on the best side of everybody.
“I am very glad to see you, Miss Frost,” said Mrs. Peabody cordially, advancing to meet the school teacher. “I’ve meant to call, but I couldn’t seem to get time. I suppose you know some of these ladies. I’ll introduce you to such as you don’t know.”
So Mabel made the rounds and was generally introduced. Though the society was so unlike that in which she had been accustomed to mingle, she had a natural grace and tact which carried her through the ordeal easily and naturally. She finally found a seat next to Mrs. Priscilla Pulsifer, an old lady of an inquiring turn of mind, who was a new acquaintance, and promptly seized the opportunity to cross-examine Mabel, as she had long desired to do.
“You’re the new school teacher, ain’t you?”
“Yes, I am.”
“How old be you?” asked the old lady, glaring at her through her glasses.
“Twenty two,” answered Mabel, resenting what she considered an impertinent question by a counter inquiry. How old are you, Mrs. Pulsifer?”
“Seventy one; and I ain’t ashamed on’t, either,” answered the old lady, bridling.
Mabel was already sorry for her question. “Age is not a thing to be ashamed of,” she said. “You don’t look so old as that.”
“So folks say,” said Mrs. Pulsifer, quite appeased, and resuming her inquiries: “You’re from the city, ain’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Ever taught afore?”
“This is my first school.”
“How do you like teachin’?”
“Better than I expected. I feel repaid for my labor by watching the progress of the scholars.”
“How much wages do you get?” asked the old lady practically.
“Seven dollars a week.”
“That’s pooty good pay for a single gal,” remarked Mrs. Pulsifer. “You don’t have anybody dependent on you?”
“Do you mean a husband, Mrs. Pulsifer?” asked Mabel, her eyes sparkling with fun.
“I didn’t know but you might have a mother, or brother an’ sister, to support.”
“No,” said Mabel sadly, “I am alone in the world.”
“Sho! I s’pose you calc’late on bein’ married some time,” said the old lady, with directness.
“Perhaps I may be,” said Mabel, amused, “but I can’t say I calculate on it.”
“I guess you can get somebody to marry you,” said the practical old lady. “You’re good lookin’, and are likely to please the men. Clarissa Bassett’s tried hard, but somehow she don’t make out.”