The Puritans by Arlo Bates

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"I wish that you wouldn't keep calling Mr. Wynne 'this,'" she
interrupted hastily. "It sounds dreadfully superior. Come," she added,
softening her tone, and pleased at having prevented him from going on,
"there is no need that we should quarrel about him. He is a priest, or
going to be, and he's to take the vows of celibacy, so that it is
absurd for anybody to think of being jealous of him. If I seem
different to-day, it isn't any wonder after what I've been through."

"I beg your pardon," he said, coming quickly forward and extending his
hand. "I'm awfully selfish. Of course I understand that what you've
been saying isn't to be taken seriously. We stand as we did before.
Only," he added, his voice deepening, "you are to remember that the
danger of losing you has shown me how fond I am of you. Good-by."

He stooped and kissed her hand, and before she could speak, he was
gone. She stood where he had left her, hearing him leave the house, and
the tears came into her eyes.

"Oh," she moaned to herself, "I've made it worse than it was before. I
wanted to be honest, and he wouldn't let me!"

She stood a moment disconsolately, then she shrugged her shoulders as
if to throw off all care.

"Well," she told herself, "I've given him fair warning. Now it is time
to go and entertain grandmother's guest."

XIII

A NECESSARY EVIL
Julius Caesar, ii. 2.

While the advocates of Father Frontford were laboring, the friends of
other candidates were not idle. By the middle of January, however, the
contest had practically narrowed itself down to a struggle between the
supporters of the Father and those of the Rev. Rutherford Strathmore.
Other names had been suggested, but in the end it was felt that there
was no doubt that one or the other of these men would succeed to the
vacant bishopric. Even church politicians are human, and most divisions
are sure sooner or later to arouse the vanity of contestants. The
struggle, which begins without consciously personal motives, is apt to
be strongly tempered by the determination not to be beaten. For
thousands who can accomplish the difficult feat of triumphing humbly,
there is hardly one who can submit to defeat generously; and against
the humiliation of failure the human being instinctively strives with
every power. Those who upheld the rival candidates were undoubtedly
convinced that they had the best interests of the church at heart; but
that meant the election--even at some cost!--of their favorite.

There could be no question that Mr. Strathmore was the more generally
popular candidate. He was a man who appealed strongly to the common
heart, both by his sympathy and by flexibility of character and
temperament which made it impossible for him to be repellantly stern or
austere. He preached the high ideals which are dear to the best thought
of the children of the Puritans; he demanded high purpose and high
life, noble aims and unfailing charity; while he laid little stress on
dogmas, and allowed an elasticity of individual interpretation of
doctrine which made the creed easy of adoption by all who believed
anything. His enemies--for he was by no means so insignificant as to be
without enemies--declared that he carried the doctrine of "mental
reservations" to the extent of rendering the articles of faith mere
empty forms of words; his defenders protested that he was but wisely
conforming in non-essentials to the progressive spirit of the age.
Bitterly attacked by the more conservative members of his own
denomination, he was looked up to by the general public as a great
spiritual leader, and loved with an affection exceedingly rare in this
unpriestly age. Those who urged his elevation had the support of the
body of the laity, and also of the public outside of the church, which
for once was interested in church politics on account of affection and
reverence for the candidate.

Mr. Strathmore himself had the discretion not to express himself freely
in relation to his own feelings in the matter. The enthusiastic
assertions of his friends that no one save him could fill the vacant
office he had answered by observing with a smile that the church was
indeed fallen upon evil times if there was in it but one man fit to be
made a bishop. He had added, it is true, that if it were the will of
Providence that he be the one chosen he should accept the office as a
duty given him by Heaven, and should devote himself to it with all his
ability. It was by no means the least of Mr. Strathmore's gifts that
he had the grace of speaking always without any suggestion of cant.
There was an impression of candor and enthusiasm in everything he said,
so that words which might on the lips of another sound conventional or
meaningless became on his spontaneous and vital. "He is too modest and
self-forgetful to wish for the honor," his friends commented now; "but
he is too conscientious not to put aside his personal preferences for
the good of the church. He may shrink from the high places, but he is
the ideal man for them." As much of this sort of thing was said in the
public print, it is not impossible that the Rev. Rutherford Strathmore
was aware of it; but he had the good taste to ignore it, even in
conversation with his nearest friends, and the tact to carry himself
without self-consciousness or the appearance of humility with which a
smaller man would have shown that he knew that he was being praised.

Of friends he had a host well-nigh innumerable. He had an especial
liking for young men, and a great influence over them. He had the art
of arousing in them an emotional enthusiasm toward a higher life, so
that he had never lack of efficient helpers among the laymen in
whatever projects he undertook. He had also that invaluable attribute
of the priest, the gift of inspiring confidence and opening the heart.
He did not seem to seek confidences, yet they always came to him. Young
men in trouble, young women in woe, lads in the impressionable period
when sentimental experiences assume importance prodigious, youth of
both sexes bewildered between physical and religious sensations, the
sick and the poor, the ignorant and the cultivated, all found in him
that sympathy which opens the heart, and which, most of human
qualities, endears a man to his fellows.

Mr. Strathmore and Father Frontford might not unfairly be said to
represent the two extremes of modern theology: on the one hand the
relaxing of creeds, the liberalizing of thought, the breaking down of
barriers which have divided the church from the world, and, above all,
acquiescence in individual liberty of thought; on the other hand, the
conservative element taking the position that individual liberty of
interpretation means nothing less than a practical destruction of all
standards, and that what is called the liberalizing of thought can
result in nothing less than the utter overthrow of the church.
Undoubtedly either would have declared that he held the other to be a
devout and godly man; but he must inwardly have added, a mistaken and
conscientiously mischievous one. If Mr. Strathmore was right, Father
Frontford was little less than a mediaeval bigot, unhappily belated; if
the Father was correct, then Strathmore, despite all his influence, his
popularity, his power of attracting great congregations, was little
better than a dangerous and pestilent heretic.

One morning Mr. Strathmore sat in his study talking to a visitor in
clerical dress. The room was luxuriously appointed, for Mr.
Strathmore's belongings were always of a sort to minister pleasantly to
the sense. The walls were lined with books in sumptuous bindings, the
windows hung with heavy curtains of crimson velvet, the floor covered
with rich rugs. A bronze statuette of Savonarola stood on an ebony
pedestal between two windows, consorting somewhat oddly with the velvet
draperies which swept down on either side. Indeed, there might be
thought to be something in the thin, spiritually impassioned face of
the monk, in the eagerly imperative gesture with which he pointed with
one hand to the open Bible he held in the other, not entirely
consistent with the somewhat worldly air of the room. The handsome
carved chairs, cushioned with fine leather, the beautiful landscape by
Rousseau above the mantel, the bronze and silver of the writing-table,
had been given to the popular pastor by enthusiastic admirers, however,
and perhaps the Savonarola better expressed his own inner feelings. Mr.
Strathmore's face, it is true, was in itself somewhat unspiritual. The
clergyman was of commanding presence, and while neither unusually tall
nor exceptionally large, he somehow gave, from the air with which he
carried himself, the impression of size and importance. His eyes were
keen and piercing, neither study nor the advance of years having dimmed
their clear sight or reduced him to the necessity of wearing glasses.
He was still handsome, although his face was too full, and he was too
generously provided with chins. As he talked, his face would have
seemed almost blank and expressionless had it not been for his keen
eyes, full of alert intelligence and abundant vitality. His glance was
acute and searching, and yet nothing could exceed its kindliness and
sympathy.

The visitor who sat talking with Mr. Strathmore was almost ludicrously
his opposite. Mr. Pewtap was a small, ineffectual creature, with
inefficiency oozing out of his every pore. He was conspicuously the
incarnation of well-meaning and exasperating incompetence; one of
those men who might be forgiven everything but the fact that their
stupidities are invariably the result of the best intentions. It was
evident at a glance that this man had used the church as a genteel
pauper asylum, wherein his ineptitude might be devoted to the service
of Heaven since nothing gifted with the common sense of earth would
tolerate it. His very attitude was an excuse, and the way in which he
handled his hat might have provoked profanity in any saint at all
addicted to nerves. Mr. Pewtap was more than usually crushed in his
appearance, and toed in more than was his custom, because he had come
on an awkward errand, and had been telling his host that he could not
vote for him in the coming election.

Mr. Strathmore had received this declaration with good-humor, and even
with no appearance of disapproval.

"Of course, Mr. Pewtap," he said, "I am human, and it would be
disingenuous for me to pretend that I am not pleased by the fact that
my name has been mentioned in connection with the bishopric. I can
conscientiously affirm, however, that the good of the church is more
dear to me than ambition. Even were it not, I hardly think that I am
capable of being offended with any man who felt it his duty to vote
against me."

He smiled with winning warmth. The other moved in his seat uneasily,
becoming momentarily more apologetic until he seemed to beg pardon for
existing at all.

"I have always felt," he said confusedly, "that you ought to be chosen.
That is, I mean that when Bishop Challoner was taken from us I said to
Mrs. Pewtap that you were sure to succeed him."

Mr. Strathmore smiled, but he did not offer to help his visitor out of
the tangle in which he was evidently involving himself.

"It isn't the good of the church, exactly," Mr. Pewtap stumbled on,
turning his seedy hat about like a slow wheel which had some connection
with grinding out his speech, "that I--Yes, of course I mean that the
good of the church must be considered first, as you say."

Speechlessness seemed to overcome him, and he looked upon his host with
a piteous appeal in his face.

"I understand that it is not an easy thing for you to tell me that it
seems best to you not to vote for me," Mr. Strathmore said kindly. "I
appreciate your coming to me on an errand so hard for you."

Mr. Pewtap sighed eloquently.

"If circumstances," he interpolated eagerly, "if circumstances were
different"--

"Of course," the other responded with a genial laugh. "As they are,
however, it seems to you best to vote for Father Frontford, and you
have a kindness for me that makes you come and tell me your reason. I'm
glad you do me the justice to believe that I won't misunderstand."

"Oh, I was sure you wouldn't misunderstand. You see, Mrs. Frostwinch
has been so good to my family. I have seven children, Mr. Strathmore,
all under ten."

The eye of the host twinkled, but he was otherwise of admirable
gravity.

"And my chance might be better if you hadn't so many?" he suggested.

"Oh, we never could have had so many if it hadn't been for Mrs.
Frostwinch," Mr. Pewtap responded eagerly. "I mean, of course, that we
couldn't have taken care of them all. She has for years given Mrs.
Pewtap a little annual income,--little to her, I mean, of course; but
it doesn't take much to be a great deal to us."

Mr. Strathmore picked up a paper-knife of cut silver and played with it
a moment in silence, as if waiting for the other to go on.

"Do I understand," he said at length, "that Mrs. Frostwinch has
something to do with your decision in regard to the election?"

"Yes; she wrote to me that she was sure that I'd vote for Father
Frontford, and that she was greatly interested in his being bishop.
It's the only thing she ever asked of me, and she has been so generous
that I don't see how I can refuse when Father Frontford is so good a
man, and so earnest for the upbuilding of the church."

"You must certainly follow your conscience," Strathmore commented
blandly.

"Oh, I shouldn't have any conscience against voting for you, Mr.
Strathmore; I couldn't possibly have. Besides, it would be my
inclination if circumstances were different. I wanted to explain to you
that it is not because I fail to appreciate how kind you have been to
me that I vote for him. When I was told yesterday that the vote was
likely to be close, and that my vote might make a difference, I assure
you I was quite distressed. I told Mrs. Pewtap last night in the night
that I couldn't feel comfortable till I'd seen you and explained."

"It is most kind of you," Strathmore put in, his face inscrutable, but
his eyes still kindly.

"I wanted to explain that under the circumstances I had no choice."

"I understand. It is not necessary to say any more about it. Of course
in a case of this sort a man has only to follow his conscience, and let
the consequences take care of themselves."

"That is what I said to Mrs. Pewtap," was the enthusiastic reply. "I
said to her that you would understand that this is a matter to be
decided by conscience and not by individual preferences. Otherwise I
should have been very glad to vote for you. I am sure you understand
that I personally wish you all success."

He rose as he spoke, his face lighted with an expression of relief.

"I am very much obliged to you, I'm sure," he ran on. "I knew you
wouldn't blame me, but these things are always so hard to state
properly so that there sha'n't be any misunderstanding. You have taken
a great weight off of my mind. Of course, as you say, in such a case
there is nothing to do but to act according to one's conscience, and
let the consequences be cared for by a higher power. Only personally,
you know, personally I shall be delighted if you are successful."

When Mr. Pewtap was gone Mr. Strathmore stood a moment in thought, his
forehead wrinkled as if with doubt. Then his face melted into a smile,
as if he were amused at the peculiarities of his visitor. He shrugged
his shoulders, and sat down to write a note. At that moment there was a
tap at the door, and his colleague came into the room.

"Good morning, Thurston," Mr. Strathmore greeted him. "I shall be ready
to go with you in a moment. I am writing a note to Mrs. Gore."

The Rev. Philander Thurston was a short, brisk, worldly-looking divine,
with shrewd glance. Nature had evidently been somewhat too hasty or
careless in the making of his face, for she had cut his nostrils
unpleasantly high and set his eyes much too near together.

"I saw Mrs. Gore yesterday," Thurston responded. "She thinks that she
can answer for those votes of which we were speaking. She says that the
vote of Mr. Pewtap will depend upon Mrs. Frostwinch."

"He has just been here," Strathmore said smiling. "He told me in so
many words that he is to vote for Frontford. His conscience will not
allow him to run the risk of depriving his children of the annuity Mrs.
Frostwinch gives his wife. I'm sure I'm not inclined to blame him."

"It is outrageous that he should fail you after all you've done for
him," Thurston declared with some heat. "I never had any confidence in
him."

"Oh, he acts according to his nature," was the good-humored response,
"and I'm afraid there isn't substance enough to him for grace to get a
very strong hold to change him. If Mrs. Frostwinch is taking an active
part in this matter there are others she can influence."

"Yes," the colleague said. "I thought that she was too much taken up
with that mind-healing business; but she evidently wants to help bring
the church back to the formalities of the Middle Ages. Frontford would
have the whole diocese going to confession if he had his way."

"He could do nothing of the kind if he did wish to do it," Mr.
Strathmore answered quietly. "The worst that he could bring about would
be to give the impression to the world that the church was retrograding
instead of progressing. He would be entirely opposed to individual
liberty of conscience everywhere, and that seems to me to be in
opposition to the spirit of the age."

"It undoubtedly is," assented the young man eagerly.

"The gravest harm that he could do in the church," pursued the other,
"would be to encourage the substitution of form for spirit. The more
religious faith is shaken, the greater is the temptation to supply its
place by a ritual, and this temptation seems to me the most imminent
and deadly peril of the church to-day."

"It certainly is," confirmed the colleague.

"Besides," Strathmore added emphatically, rising as he spoke, "the
deepest need of any time can be met only by a church which is in
sympathy with the tendencies of the time."

"You put it admirably," the other murmured.

Strathmore regarded him keenly, almost as if he suspected some hidden
thought behind the words.

"It is time for us to go," he said in his usual genial tone.

The two clergymen left the house and went down the street together,
talking of parish business, until they came to the street-corner where
they were to take a car. As they stood waiting for this conveyance, a
lady came quickly forward and spoke to Mr. Strathmore, who greeted her
cordially, expressing much pleasure in seeing her.

"You were so kind to me," she said. "I have been thinking of all you
said to me last week, and it seems to me that I can bear my burden
better. I want to thank you with all my heart."

"There is nothing to thank me for," he answered with grave tenderness.
"The blessing is mine if I have been able to help you."

"But there was no one else," she said, tears springing in her eyes,
"that I could have talked to so freely. You understood and sympathized.
It was like talking to a brother."

He took her hand with an air perfectly unaffected and unobtrusive, yet
which was almost paternal in its benignity. Her look was one almost of
reverence as she hurried on her way with bowed head.

"Thurston," Mr. Strathmore asked, as they took the car together, "do
you know the name of that lady who spoke to me on the corner?"

"I didn't notice, sir. I was watching for the car."

"She seemed to know me perfectly," Strathmore said rather absently,
"and yet I can't place her. By the way, did you bring that letter from
the church committee in New York? There is a passage in it that I may
want to read at the meeting."

"I brought it, sir. There is likely to be a good deal of difference of
opinion at the committee meeting to-day," Mr. Thurston said with an air
of craftiness which was like an explanatory foot-note to his character,
"so I judged that it was well to be provided with documents."

The other made no reply, but fell into deep thought, making no further
remark until they left the car near the place where they were to attend
a meeting of the Charity Board.

"I think," he observed dispassionately, "that there are four clergymen
whose votes Mrs. Frostwinch may be able to control."

XIV

HE SPEAKS THE MERE CONTRARY
Love's Labor's Lost, i. 1.

Ashe had in these days been dallying with temptation. He contrived not
to confess it to himself, but by a variety of ingenious devices to
cheat his conscience into the belief that he was serving the church by
his consultations with Mrs. Fenton, his services to her charity work,
and his continual thought of her views in regard to the election. It is
amazing how clever even a dull man may be when it comes to inventing
excuses for his own beguiling; and Philip struggled with such
desperation to convince himself that he was acting disinterestedly that
he all but succeeded. He could not, however, achieve what is
impossible; and there was a pain in the heart of the young man which
testified that his sense of right was sore despite all his cunning.

At the meeting of the Charity Board to which Mr. Strathmore had been
going, Ashe sat beside Mrs. Fenton. His obvious excuse was that she was
to make a report, and that he, as a visitor in her district, was able
to support her in case there were any discussion. The session had been
looked forward to with much interest, from the general feeling that
there would probably be something like a conflict between the Frontford
and Strathmore factions. There had for a long time been a growing
division on the subject of the method of conducting church charities;
and it was expected that at this meeting the feeling would break out
openly. It would not be easy to say how it was known that anything of
the sort was to occur. There was no announcement of business which
differed materially from that of the ordinary sessions of the board.
The time did not seem propitious for a discussion, and there were
evident reasons why the followers of either candidate might be supposed
to wish to avoid arousing antagonism; yet it was certain that the
meeting would not close without some sort of a demonstration. There are
times when public feeling seems to demand and force declarations of
principle or of purpose which policy would gladly suppress; and such a
time had arrived in the Charity Board. Ashe was so strongly moved by
the possibilities of the situation that even the proximity of Mrs.
Fenton did not absorb his attention; although he was not for a moment
unconscious of being beside her.

The business routine was gone through, and after that half an hour
passed in the ordinary fashion. At the end of that time Mr. Thurston,
with apparent unconsciousness, threw a spark into the combustibles.

"The fact seems to be," he said, "that there has been too much the air
of proselyting in our charity work, and that has brought it into
discredit with the class which we most wish to reach."

He sat down with a face admirably controlled. Mr. Strathmore showed in
his benignant countenance nothing save charity for all and general
approval of the remarks of his subordinate. The audience stirred
nervously, realizing that the critical moment had come. Father
Frontford, pale, ascetic, austere, rose with grave deliberation.

"What has just been said," he began, "brings up a subject which has
been in the minds of many for some months,--the question whether there
is or should be any difference between the charity work of the church,
and that of the city or the world in general. As far as I understand
the position of the last speaker, I take it to be his opinion that
there is, or at least that there should be, no such difference. He
believes in alleviating misery, and he would have religion kept in the
background, lest the poor should feel that they are being fed for the
sake of being led to a better life. I do not myself see the objection
to their thinking so. I am by no means sure that they do; but I am
convinced that they look for a motive, and it seems to me better that
they should believe the object of missionary work to be proselyting--I
think that that was the word--than that they should embrace the too
prevalent and most dangerous idea that charity is a bribe from the rich
to keep the poor quiet. There is not a little feeling nowadays that
philanthropy is encouraging socialism. The poor echo incendiary orators
in saying that the rich dole out a little of what they know to belong
to the poor so that they may be allowed to keep the rest unmolested. I
believe that this feeling is a menace to the State, and that
philanthropy which nourishes such a belief is working hand in hand with
treason."

He paused a moment, and there arose a faint murmur. Ashe looked at his
companion, and encountered a glance which seemed to express something
of his own surprise at the boldness of Father Frontford's words. That
the speaker should be uncompromising was to be supposed, but this was
an attitude unexpected and astonishing. One or two men started up as
if to reply, but the Father went on again. His voice was thin and
incisive, with a vibrating quality when it was raised which affected
the nerves. It was easy to dislike his tones, but it was not easy to
resist their influence. He passed to another point, and his words had a
keener emphasis.

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