The Busted Ex-Texan, and Other Stories Read online

  HOW DEACON TUBMAN AND PARSON WHITNEY CELEBRATED NEW YEAR'S.

  "Mirandy, I'm going up to see the parson," exclaimed the deacon, whenthe morning devotions were over, "and see if I can thaw him out alittle. I've heard that there used to be a lot in him in his youngerdays, but he's sort of frozen all up latterly, and I can see that theyoung folks are afraid of him and the church too, but that won't do--no,it won't do," repeated the good man emphatically, "for the ministerought to be loved by young and old, rich and poor, and everybody; and achurch without young folks in it is, why, it is like a family with nochildren in it. Yes, I'll go up and wish him a Happy New Year anyway.Perhaps I can get him out for a ride to make some calls on the people,and see the young folks at their fun. It'll do him good, and them good,and me good, and everybody good." Saying which, the deacon got insidehis warm fur coat, and started toward the barn to harness Jack into theworn, old-fashioned sleigh, which sleigh was built high in the back, andhad a curved dasher of monstrous proportions, ornamented with a prancinghorse in an impossible attitude, done in bright vermilion on a bluebackground!

  "Happy New Year to you, Parson Whitney! Happy New Year to you," criedthe deacon, as he stood in the doorway of the parsonage and shook theparson by the hand enthusiastically, "and may you live to enjoy ahundred."

  "Come in, come in," cried Parson Whitney, in response. "I'm glad you'vecome; I'm glad you've come. I've been wanting to see you all themorning," and in the cordiality of his greeting he literally pulled thelittle man through the doorway into the hall, and hurried him up thestairway to his study in the chamber overhead.

  "Thinking of me! Well, now, I never!" exclaimed the deacon, as, assistedby the parson, he twisted and wriggled himself out of his coat, that hefilled, a little too snugly for an easy exit. "Thinking of me, and amongall these books too--Bibles, catechisms, tracts, theologies, sermons.Well, well, that is funny. What made you think of me?"

  "Deacon Tubman," responded the parson, as he seated himself in hisarmchair, "I want to talk with you about the church."

  "The church!" ejaculated the deacon in response. "Nothing going wrong, Ihope?"

  "Yes, things are going wrong, deacon," responded the parson. "Thecongregation is growing smaller and smaller, and yet I preach good,strong, biblical, soul-satisfying sermons, I trust."

  "Good ones! good ones!" answered the deacon promptly, "neverbetter--never better in the world."

  "And yet the people are deserting the sanctuary," rejoined the parsonsolemnly, "and the young people won't come to the sociables, and thelittle children seem actually afraid of me. What shall I do, deacon?"and the good man put the question with pathetic emphasis.

  "You've hit the nail on the head, square as a hatchet, parson,"responded the deacon. "The congregation is thinning. The young peopledon't come to the meetings, and the little children are afraid of you."

  "What's the matter, deacon?" cried the parson in return. "What is it?"he repeated earnestly. "Speak it right out; don't try to spare myfeelings. I will listen to--I will do anything to win back my people'slove," and the strong, old-fashioned Calvinistic preacher said it in avoice that actually trembled.

  "You can do it--you can do it in a week!" exclaimed the deaconencouragingly. "Don't worry about it, parson; it'll be all right, it'llbe all right. Your books are the trouble."

  "Books?" ejaculated the parson. "What have they to do with it?"

  "Everything," replied the deacon stoutly. "You pore over them day in andday out; they keep you in this room here when you should be out amongthe people,--not making pastoral visits,--I don't mean that,--but goingaround among them, chatting and joking and having a good time. Theywould like it, and you would like it, and as for the young folks--howold are you, parson?"

  "Sixty next month," answered the parson; "sixty next month," he repeatedsolemnly.

  "Thirty! thirty! that's all you are, parson, or all you ought to be,"cried the deacon. "Thirty, twenty, sixteen!--let the figures slide downand up, according to circumstances, but never let them go higher thanthirty when you are dealing with young folks. I'm sixty myself, countingyears; but I'm only sixteen, sixteen this morning, that's all, parson,"and he rubbed his little round plump hands together, looked at theparson, and winked.

  "Bless my soul, Deacon Tubman, I don't know but that you are right!"answered the parson. "Sixty? I don't know as I am sixty," and he beganto rub his own hands, and came within an ace of executing a wink at thedeacon, himself.

  "Not a day over twenty, if I am any judge of age," responded the deacondeliberately, as he looked the white-headed old minister over with amost comic imitation of seriousness. "Not a day over twenty, on myhonor," and the deacon leaned forward toward the parson, and gave him apunch with his thumb, as one boy might deliver a punch at another, andthen he lay back in his chair and laughed so heartily that the parsoncaught the infectious mirth and roared away as heartily as himself.

  Yes, it was impossible to sit hobnobbing with the little, jolly deaconon that bright New Year's morning and not be affected by the happinessof his mood, for he was actually bubbling over with fun, and as full offrolic as if the finger on the dial had, in truth, gone back forty-oddyears, and he was "only sixteen. Only sixteen, parson, on my honor."

  "But what can I do?" queried the good man, sobering down. "I make mypastoral visits."

  "Pastoral visits!" responded Deacon Tubman. "Oh, yes, and they are allwell enough for the old folks, but they ar'n't the kind of biscuit theyoung folks like--too heavy in the centre, and over-hard in the crustfor young teeth, eh, parson?"

  "But what shall I do? what shall I do?" reiterated the parson, somewhatdespondently.

  "Oh! put on your hat, and gloves, and warmest coat, and come along withme. We will see what the young folks are doing, and will make a day ofit. Come! come! let the old books, and catechisms, and sermons, andtracts have a respite for once, and we'll spend the day out-of-doors,with the boys and girls and the people."

  "I'll do it!" exclaimed the parson. "Deacon Tubman, you are right. I dokeep to my study too closely. I don't see enough of the world and what'sgoing on in it. I was reading the Testament this morning, and I wasimpressed with the Master's manner of living and teaching. It is notcertain that he ever preached more than twice in a church during all hisministry on the earth. And the children! how much he loved the children,and how the little ones loved him! And why shouldn't they love me, too?Why shouldn't they? I'll make them do it! yes, I'll make them do it! Thelambs of my flock shall love me." And with these brave words ParsonWhitney bundled himself up in his warmest garments, and followed thedeacon downstairs.

  "Tell the folks that you won't be back till night," called the deaconfrom the sleigh; "for this is New Year, and we're going to make a day ofit," and he laughed away as heartily as might be--so heartily that theparson joined in the laughter himself as he came shuffling down the icypath toward him. "Bless me! how much younger I feel already!" said thegood man as he stood up in the sleigh, and with a long, strong breathbreathed the cool, pure air into his lungs. "Bless me! how much youngerI feel already!" he repeated, as he settled down into the roomy seat ofthe old sleigh. "Only sixteen to-day,--eh, deacon?" and he nudged himwith his elbow.

  "That's all, that's all, parson," answered the deacon gayly, as henudged him vigorously back; "that's all we are, either of us," and,laughing as merrily as two boys, the two glided away in the sleigh.

  Well, perhaps they didn't have fun that day, these two old boys that hadstarted out with the feeling that they were "only sixteen," and bound tomake "a day of it!" And they did make a day of it, in fact, and such aday as neither had had for forty years; for, first, they went toBartlett's Hill, where the boys and girls were coasting, and coastedwith them for a full hour,--and then it was discovered by the youngerportion of his flock that the parson was not an old, stiff, solemn,surly poke, as they had thought, but a pleasant, good-natured, kindlysoul, who could take and give a joke, and steer a sled as well as thesmartest boy in the crowd; and when it came to snow-b
alling, he couldsend a ball further than Bill Sykes himself, who could out-throw any boyin town, and roll up a bigger block to the new snow fort they werebuilding than any three boys among them. And how the parson enjoyedbeing a boy again! How exhilarating the slide down the steep hill; howinvigorating the pure, cool air; how pleasant the noise of the chattingand joking going