CHAPTER VI
THE BELL FOR CHURCH
What with telling little Skeezucks of all the things he meant to make,and fondling the grave bit of babyhood, and trying to work out thestory of how he came to be utterly unsought for, deserted, andparentless, Jim had hardly more than time enough remaining, that day,in which to entertain the visiting men, who continued to climb the hillto the house.
Throughout that Saturday there was never more than fifteen minutes whensome of the big, rough citizens of Borealis were not on hand,attempting always to get the solemn little foundling to answer someword to their efforts at baby conversation. But neither to them, forthe strange array of presents they offered, nor to Jim himself, for allhis gentle coaxing, would the tiny chap vouchsafe the slightest hint ofwho he was or whence he had come.
It is doubtful if he knew. By the hour he sat where they placed him,holding his doll with something more deep and hungry than affection,and looking at Jim or the visitors in his pretty, baby way of gravityand questioning.
When he sat on old Jim's knee, however, he leaned in confidence againsthim, and sighed with a sweet little sound of contentment, as poignantto reinspire a certain ecstasy of sadness in the miner's breast as itwas to excite an envy in the hearts of the others.
Next to Jim, he loved Tintoretto--that joyous, irresponsible bit ofpup-wise gladness whose tail was so utterly inadequate to express hisenthusiasm that he wagged his whole fuzzy self in the manner of anawkward fish. Never was the tiny man seated with his doll on the floorthat the pup failed to pounce upon him and push him over, half a dozentimes. Never did this happen that one of the men, or Jim himself, didnot at once haul Tintoretto, growling, away by the tail or the ear andrestore their tiny guest to his upright position. Never did such agood Samaritan fail to raise his hand for a cuff at the pup, nor everdid one of them actually strike. It ended nearly always in the pup'sattack on the hand in question, which he chewed and pawed at andotherwise befriended as only a pup, in his freedom from worries andcares, can do.
With absolutely nothing prepared, and with nothing but promises madeand forgotten, old Jim beheld the glory of Sunday morning come, withthe bite and crystalline sunshine of the season in the mountain air.
God's thoughts must be made in Nevada, so lofty and flawless is theazure sky, so utterly transparent is the atmosphere, so huge, gray, andpassionless the mighty reach of mountains!
Man's little thought was expressed in the camp of Borealis, whichappeared like a herd of small, brown houses, pitifully insignificant inall that immensity, and gathered together as if for company, trustfullynestling in the hand of the earth-mother, known to be so gentle withher children. On the hill-sides, smaller mining houses stood, each oneemphasized by the blue-gray heap of earth and granite--the dump--formedby the labors of the restless men who burrowed in the rock for preciousmetal. The road, which seemed to have no ending-place, was blazedthrough the brush and through the hills in either direction across themiles and miles of this land without a people. The houses of Borealisstood to right and left of this path through the wilderness, as if bycommon consent to let it through.
Meagre, unknown, unimportant Borealis, with her threescore men and onedecent woman, shared, like the weightiest empire, in the smile, thecare, the yearning of the ever All-Pitiful, greeting the earth withanother perfect day.
Intelligence of what could be expected, in the way of a celebration atthe blacksmith-shop of Webber, had been more than merely spread; it hadalmost been flooded over town. Long before the hour of ten, scheduledby common consent for church to commence, Webber was sweeping sundryparings of horse-hoof and scraps of iron to either side of his hardearth floor, and sprinkling the dust with water that he flirted fromhis barrel. He likewise wiped off the anvil with his leathern apron,and making a fire in the forge to take off the chill, thrust in a hugehunk of iron to irradiate the heat.
Many of the denizens of Borealis came and laid siege to the barber-shopas early as six in the morning. Hardly a man in the place, exceptParky, the gambler, had been dressed in extravagance so imposing sincethe 4th of July as was early apparent in the street. Bright newshirts, red, blue, and even white, came proudly to the front. Trouserswere dropped outside of boots, and the boots themselves were polished.A run on bear's-grease and hair-oil lent a shining halo to nearly everyhead the camp could boast. Then the groups began to gather near theopen shop of the smith.
"We'd ought to have a bell," suggested Lufkins, the teamster."Churches always ring the bell to let the parson know it's time he wasshowin' up to start the ball."
"Well, I'll string up a bar of steel," said Webber. "You can get acrackin' fine lot of noise out of that."
He strung it up in a framework just outside the door, ordinarilyemployed for hoisting heavy wagons from the earth. Then with a hammerhe struck it sharply.
The clear, ringing tone that vibrated all through the hills was astirring note indeed. So the bell-ringer struck his steel again.
"That ain't the way to do the job," objected Field. "That sounds likescarin' up voters at a measly political rally."
"Can you do it any better?" said the smith, and he offered his hammer.
"Here comes Doc Dennihan," interrupted the barkeep. "Ask Doc how it'sdone. If he don't know, we'll have to wait for old If-only Jimhisself."
The brother of the tall Miss Doc was a small man with outstanding ears,the palest gray eyes, and the quietest of manners. He was not a doctorof anything, hence his title. Perhaps the fact that the year before hehad quietly shot all six of the bullets of his Colt revolver into thebody of a murderous assailant before that distinguished person couldfall to the earth had invested his townsmen and admirers with a modestdesire to do him a titular honor. Howsoever that might have been, hehad always subsequently found himself addressed with sincere respect,while his counsel had been sought on every topic, possible, impossible,and otherwise, mooted in all Borealis. The fact that his sister wasthe "boss of his shack," and that he, indeed, was a henpecked man, wasnever, by any slip of courtesy, conversationally paraded, especially inhis hearing.
Appealed to now concerning the method of ringing the bar of steel forworshipful purposes, he took a bite at his nails before replying. Thenhe said:
"Well, I'd ring it a little bit faster than you would for a funeral anda little bit slower than you would for a fire."
"That's the stuff!" said Field. "I knowed that Doc would know."
But Doc refused them, nevertheless, when they asked if he would deignto do the ringing himself. Consequently Field, the father of the camp,made a gallant attempt at the work, only to miss the "bell" with hishammer and strike himself on the knee, after which he limped to a seat,declaring they didn't need a bell-ringing anyhow. Upon the blacksmiththe duty devolved by natural selection.
He rang a lusty summons from the steel, that fetched all the dressed-upcongregation of the town hastening to the scene. Still, old Jim, thefaithful Keno, little Skeezucks, and Tintoretto failed to appear. Adeputation was therefore sent up the hill, where Jim was foundinforming his household that if only he had the celerity of action hewould certainly make a Sunday suit of clothing for the tiny little man.For himself, he had washed and re-turned his shirt, combed his hair,and put on a better pair of boots, which the pup had been chewing tooccupy his leisure time.
The small but impressive procession came slowly down the trail at last,Jim in the lead, with the grave little foundling on his arm.
"Boys," said he, as at last he entered the dingy shop and sat hisquaint bit of a man on the anvil, over which he had thoughtfully thrownhis coat--"boys, if only I'd had about fifteen minutes more of time I'dhave thought up all the tricks you ever saw in a church."
The men filed in, awkwardly taking off their hats, and began to seatthemselves as best they could, on anything they found available.Webber, the smith, went stoutly at his bellows, and blew up a fire thatflamed two feet above the forge, fountaining fiercely with sparks ofthe iron in the coal, and tossi
ng a ruddy light to the darkest cornersof the place. The incense of labor--that homely fragrance of thesmithy all over the world--spread fresh and new to the very dooritself. Old Jim edged closer to the anvil and placed his hand on thesomewhat frightened little foundling, sitting there so gravely, andclasping his doll in fondness to his heart.
Outside, it was noted, Field had halted the red-headed Keno for amoment's whispered conversation. Keno nodded knowingly. Then he cameinside, and, addressing them all, but principally Jim, he said:
"Say, before we open up, Miss Doc would like to know if she kin come."
A silence fell on all the men. Webber went hurriedly and closed theponderous door.
"Wal, she wouldn't be apt to like it till we get a little practisedup," said the diplomatic Jim, who knew the tenor of his auditors."Tell her maybe she kin--some other time."
"This ain't no regular elemercenary institution," added the teamster.
"Why not now?" demanded Field. "Why can't she come?"
"Becuz," said the smith, "this church ain't no place for a woman,anyhow."
A general murmur of assent came from all the men save Field and DocDennihan himself.
"Leave the show commence," said a voice.
"Start her up," said another.
"Wal, now," drawled Jim, as he nervously stroked his beard, "let's takeit easy. Which opening do all you fellers prefer?"
No one answered.
One man finally inquired. "How many kinds is there?"
Jim said, "Wal, there's the Methodist, the Baptist, the Graeco-Roman,Episcopalian, and--the catch-as-catch-can."
"Give us the ketch-and-kin-ketch-as-you-kin," responded the spokesman.
"Mebbe we ought to begin with Sunday-school," suggested the blacksmith."That would sort of get us ready for the real she-bang."
"How do you do it?" inquired Lufkins, the teamster.
"Oh, it's just mostly catechism," Jim imparted, sagely.
"And what's catechism?" said Bone.
"Catechism," drawled the miner, "is where you ask a lot of questionsthat only the children can answer."
"I know," responded the blacksmith, squatting down before the anvil."Little Skeezucks, who made you?"
The quaint little fellow looked at the brawny man timidly. How pale,how wee he appeared in all that company, as he sat on the great lump ofiron, solemnly winking his big, brown eyes and clinging to hismake-shift of a doll!
"Aw, say, give him something easy," said Lufkins.
"That's what they used to bang at me," said the smith, defending hisposition. "But I'll ask him the easiest one of the lot. Baby boy," hesaid, in a gentle way of his own, "who is it makes everything?--whomakes all the lovely things in the world?"
Shyly the tiny man leaned back on the arm he felt he knew, and gravely,to the utter astonishment of the big, rough men, in his sweet babyutterance, he said:
"Bruv-ver--Jim."
A roar of laughter instantly followed, giving the youngster a startthat almost shook him from his seat.
"By jinks!" said Keno. "That's all right. You bet he knows."
But the Sunday-school programme was not again attempted. Whensomething like calm had settled once more on the audience, If-only Jimremarked that he guessed they would have to quit their fooling and getdown to the business of church.
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