Sunny Slopes

by Ethel Hueston

  CHAPTER VI

  THE HEAVY YOKE

  The burden of ministering rested very lightly on Carol's slendershoulders. The endless procession of missionary meetings, aidsocieties, guilds and boards, afforded her a childish delight and didnot sap her enthusiasm to the slightest degree. She went out of herlittle manse each new day, laughing, and returned, wearily perhaps, butstill laughing. She sang light-heartedly with the youth of the church,because she was young and happy with them. She sympathizedpassionately with the old and sorry ones, because the richness of herown content, and the blessed perfection of her own life, made her hearttender.

  Into her new life she had carried three matchless assets for aminister's wife,--a supreme confidence in the exaltation of theministry, a boundless adoration for her husband, and a natural likingfor people that made people naturally like her. Thus equipped, shefaced the years of aids and missions with profound serenity.

  She was sorry they hadn't more time for the honeymoon business, she andDavid. Honeymooning was such tremendously good fun. But they were soalmost unbelievably busy all the time. On Monday David was down-townall day, attending minister's meeting and Presbytery in the morning,and looking up new books in the afternoon. Carol always joined him forlunch and they counted that noon-time hour a little oasis in a week ofwork. In the evening there were deacons' meetings, or trustees'meetings, or the men's Bible class. On Tuesday evening they had aBible study class. On Wednesday evening was prayer-meeting. Thursdaynight, they, with several of their devoted workers, walked a mile and ahalf across country to Happy Hollow where they conducted mad littlemission meetings. Friday night Carol met with the young women's club,and on Saturday night was a mission study class.

  Carol used to sigh over the impossibility of having a beau night. Shesaid that she had often heard that husbands couldn't be sweethearts,but she had never believed it before. Pinned down to facts, however,she admitted she preferred the husband.

  Mornings Carol was busy with housework, talking to herself withoutintermission as she worked. And David spent long hours in his study,poring over enormous books that Carol insisted made her head ache fromthe outside and would probably give her infantile paralysis if shedared to peep between the covers. Afternoons were the aid societies,missionary societies, and all the rest of them, and then the endlesscalls,--calls on the sick, calls on the healthy, calls on the pillars,calls on the backsliders, calls on the very sad, calls on the veryhappy,--every varying phase of life in a church community merits a callfrom the minister and his wife.

  The heavy yoke,--the yoke of dead routine,--dogs the footsteps of everyminister, and even more, of every minister's wife. But Carol thoughtof the folks that fitted into the cogs of the routine to drive it roundand round,--the teachers, the doctors' wives, the free-thinkers, themothers, the professional women, the cynics, the pillars of thechurch,--and thinking of the folks, she forgot the routine. And so toher, routine could never prove a clog, stagnation. Every meetingbrought her a fresh revelation, they amused her, those people, theypuzzled her, sometimes they made her sad and frightened her, as theytaught her facts of life they had gleaned from wide experience andoften in bitter tears. Still, they were folks, and Carol had alwayshad a passion for people.

  David worked too hard. It was positively wicked for any human being towork as he did, and she scolded him roundly, and even went so far as toshake him, and then kissed him a dozen times to prove how very angryshe was at him for abusing himself so shamefully.

  David did work hard, as hard as every young minister must work to getthings going right, to make his labor count. His face, always thin,was leaner, more intense than ever. His eyes were clear, far-seeing.The whiteness of his skin, amounting almost to pallor, gave him thatsuggestion of spirituality not infrequently seen in men of passionateconsecration to a high ideal. The few graying hairs at his temples,and even the half-droop of his shoulders, added to his scholarlyappearance, and Carol was firmly convinced that he was thefinest-looking man in all St. Louis, and every place else for thatmatter.

  The mad little mission, so-called because of the riotous nature of themeetings held there, was in a most flourishing condition. Everythingwas going beautifully for the little church in the Heights, and intheir gratitude, and their happiness, Carol and David worked harderthan ever,--and mutually scolded each other for the folly of it.

  "I tell you this, David Arnold Duke," Carol told him sternly, "if youdon't do something to that cold so you can preach without coughing, Ishall do the preaching myself, and then where would you be?"

  "Without a job, of course," he answered. "But you wouldn't do it. Thewind has chafed your darling complexion, and you wouldn't go into thepulpit with a rough face. Your devotion to your beauty saves me."

  "All very well, but maybe you think a cold-sermon is effective."Carol stood up and lifted her hand impressively. "My dear brothersand sisters,--hem-ah-hem-h-hh-em,--let us unite in readingthe--ah-huh-huh-huh. Let us sing--h-h-h-h-hem--well, let us unite inprayer then--ah-chooo! ah-choooooo!"

  "Where did you put those cough-drops?" he demanded. "But even at thatit is better than you would do. 'Just as soon as I powder my face wewill unite in singing hymn one hundred thirty-six. Oh, excuse me aminute,--I believe I feel a cold-sore coming,--I have a mirror righthere, and it won't take a minute. Now, I am ready. Let us arise andsing,--but since I can not sing I will just polish my nails while therest of you do it. Ready, go!'"

  Carol laughed at the picture, but marched off for the bottle of coughmedicine and the powder box, and while he carefully measured out ateaspoonful of the one for himself, she applied the other with gaydevotion.

  "But I truly think you should not go to Happy Hollow to-night," shesaid. "Mr. Baldwin will go with me, bless his faithful old pillaryheart. And you ought to stay in. It is very stormy, and that longwalk--"

  "Oh, nonsense, a little cough like this! You are dead tired yourself;you stay at home to-night, and Baldwin and I will go. You really oughtto, Carol, you are on the jump every minute. Won't you?"

  "Most certainly not. I haven't a cold, have I? Maybe you want to keepme away so you can flirt with some of the Hollowers while I am out ofsight. Absolutely vetoed. I go."

  "Please, Carol,--won't you? Because I ask it?"

  She snuggled up to him at that and said: "It's too lonesome, Davie, andI have to go to remind you of your rubbers, and to muffle up yourthroat. But--"

  The ring of the telephone disturbed them, and she ran to answer.

  "Mr. Baldwin?--Yes--Oh, that is nice of you. I've been trying to coaxhim to stay home myself. David, Mr. Baldwin thinks you should not goout to-night, with such a cold, and he will take the meeting, and--oh,please, honey."

  David took the receiver from her hand.

  "Thanks very much, Mr. Baldwin, that is mighty kind of you, but I feelfine to-night.--Oh, sure, just a little cold. Yes, of course. Comeand go with us, won't you? Yes, be here about seven. Better make it aquarter earlier, it's bad walking to-night."

  "David, please," coaxed Carol.

  "Goosie! Who but a wife would make an invalid of a man because hesneezes?" David laughed, and Carol said no more.

  But a few minutes later, as she was carefully arranging a soft fur hatover her hair and David stood patiently holding her coat, there came alight tap at the door.

  "It is Mr. Daniels," said Carol. "I know his knock. Come in, FatherDaniels. I knew it was you."

  The old elder from next door, his gray hair standing in every directionfrom the wind he had encountered bareheaded, his little gray eyestwinkling bright, opened the door.

  "You crazy kids aren't going down to that Hollow a night like this," heprotested.

  They nodded, laughing.

  "Well, David can't go," he said decidedly. "That's a bad cold he'sgot, and it's been hanging on too long. I can't go myself for I can'twalk, but I'll call up my son-in-law and make him go. So take off yourhat, Parson, and-- No you come over and read the B
ible to me while theyoung folks go gadding. I need some ministerial attention myself,--I'mwavering in my faith."

  "You, wavering?" demanded David. "If no one ever wavered any harderthan you do, Daniels, there wouldn't be much of a job for thepreachers. And you say for me to let Carol go with Dick? What are youthinking of? I tell you when any one goes gadding with Carol, I am theman." Then he added seriously: "But really, I've got to go to-night.We're just getting hold of the folks down there and we can't let go.Otherwise, I should make Carol stay in. But the boys in her class areso fond of her that I know she is needed as much as I am."

  "But that cough--"

  "Oh, that cough is all right. It will go when spring comes. I justhaven't had a chance to rest my throat. I feel fine to-night. Come onin, Baldwin. Yes, we are ready. Still snowing? Well, a little snow--Here, Carol, you must wear your gaiters. I'll buckle them."

  A little later they set out, the three of them, heads lowered againstthe driving snow. There were no cars running across country, andindeed not even sidewalks, since it was an unfrequented part of thetown with no residences for many blocks until one reached the little,tumbledown section in the Hollow. Here and there were heavy drifts,and now and then an unexpected ditch in the path gave Carol a tumbleinto the snow, but, laughing and breathless, she was pulled out againand they plodded heavily on.

  In spite of the inclement weather, the tiny house--called a mission bygrace of speech--was well and noisily filled. Over sixty people werecrowded into the two small rooms, most of them boys between the ages oftwelve and sixteen, laughing, coughing, dragging their feet, shovingthe heavy benches, dropping song-books. They greeted the snow-coveredtrio with a royal roar, and a few minutes later were singing, "Yes,we'll gather at the river," at the tops of their discordant voices.Carol sat at the wheezy organ, painfully pounding out the rhythmicnotes,--no musician she, but willing to do anything in a pinch. Andalthough at the pretty little church up in the Heights she neverattempted to lift her voice in song, down at the mission she feltherself right in her element and sang with gay good-will, happy in theknowledge that she came as near holding to the tune as half the others.

  Most of the evening was spent in song, David standing in the narrowdoorway between the two rooms, nodding this way, nodding that, in afutile effort to keep a semblance of time among the boisterousworshipers. A short reading from the Bible, a very brief prayer, ashort, conversational story-talk from David, and the meeting broke upin wild clamor.

  Then back through the driving snow they made their way, considering theevening well worth all the exertion it had required.

  Once inside the cozy manse, David and Carol hastily changed into warmdressing-gowns and slippers and lounged lazily before the bigfireplace, sipping hot coffee, and talking, always talking of thework,--what must be done to-morrow, what could be arranged for Sunday,the young people's meeting, the primary department, the mission studyclass.

  And Carol brought out the big bottle and administered the designatedteaspoonful.

  "For you must quit coughing, David," she said. "You ruined two goodpoints last Sunday by clearing your throat in the middle of a phrase.And it isn't so easy making points as that."

  "Aren't you tired of hearing me preach, Carol? We've been married awhole year now. Aren't you finding my sermons monotonous?"

  "David," she said earnestly, resting her head against his shoulder,partly for weariness, partly for the pleasure of feeling the rise andfall of his breast,--"when you go up into the pulpit you look so whiteand good, like an apostle or a good angel, it almost frightens me. Ithink, 'Oh, no, he isn't my husband, not really,--he is just a goodangel God sent to keep me out of mischief.' And while you arepreaching I never think, 'He is mine.' I always think, 'He is God's.'"

  Tears came into her eyes as she spoke, and David drew her close in hisarms.

  "Do you, sweetheart? It seems a terrible thing to stand up therebefore a houseful, of people, most of them good, and clean, and full offaith, and try to direct their steps in the broader road. I sometimesfeel that men are not fit for it. There ought to be angels fromHeaven."

  "But there are angels from Heaven watching over them, David, guidingthem, showing them how. I believe good white angels are guiding everytrue minister,--not the bad ones-- Oh, I know a lot about ministers,honey,--proud, ambitious, selfish, vainglorious, hypocritical, evenamorous, a lot of them,--but there are others, true ones,--you, David,and some more. They just have to grow together until harvest, and thenthe false ones will be dug up and dumped in the garbage."

  For a while they were silent.

  Finally he asked, smiling a little, "Are you getting cramped, Carol?Are you getting narrow, and settling down to a rut? Have you lost yourenthusiasm and your sparkle?"

  Carol laughed at him. "David, do you remember the first night we weremarried, when we knelt down together to say our prayers and you putyour arm around my shoulder, and we prayed there, side by side?Dearest, that one little fifteen minutes of confidence and humility andheart-gratitude was worth all the sparkle and fire in the world. Buthave I lost it? Seems to me I am as much a shouting Methodist as ever."

  David laughed, coughing a little, and Carol bustled him off to bed,sure he was catching a brand new cold, and berating herself roundly forallowing this foolish angel of hers to get a chill right on her veryhands.