PAPPY’S PLAN OF SALVATION.

Lyttelton Times, Volume CXIV, Issue 13936, 19 December 1905, Page 2

PAPPY’S PLAN OF SALVATION.

(By MRS 11. H. HARRIS.) Martha was a little, wizened, apploclieeked woman who lived an exciting life because eho was Pappy Corn’s wife. She never know what to expect of her husband, and a pair of absurdly arched brows added to this expression of uncertainty. Summer and winter she wore a little plaid shawl pinned beneath her chin, and kept her nerves prepared for the worst that Pappy could do with a plentiful use of snuff. But, notwithstanding this antidote for excitement, her ancient wrinkles of astonishment deepened into consternation one morning when she hurried out to meet her husband, just returned from his weekly trip to Blue Ridge. Ho was perched high upon the driver’s seat, with his short, thin legs braced against the dash board. His whiskers spread out like a white frill beneath his cleanshaven chin, his mouth twitched dryly as Martha approached, and the light of his email, bright eyes rested upon her quizzically like two azuro hears of humour. Suddenly she drew back and threw her hands over her head. She had caught sight of an elegantly dressed young man lying in the bottom of the coach, with closed eyes and pallid face. ,

“Oh, Pappy! "What yo’ mean comm’ homo with er dead man I” she exclaimed, “Don’t git ekeert, Marthy, he hain’t dead; jest for gone in his tresspasses an’ sins,” he exclaimed, down and peering cheerfully at his victim. “Ef our son had a lived, he’d bo orbout the age of him. Thet’s how come mo ter think er bringin’ him up hero ter wean.” “ Ter wean I What yo’ mean talkiu erhout weanin’ er grown man?’’ “From drink, Marthy; he air soakin’ full of hit.” “ Yo’ hev kilt him,” she wailed. “He hain’t dead, . I tell yo’, jest flung er fit back thar on th’ road. I were glad he done hit, bein’ wore out figtin’ snakes fer him and drivin’ at th’ same time.” “ Pappy,” exclaimed .Martha, whcso anxiety took a new turn, “ hey yo’ brung er man up here with th’ delirium trembles?” “ Thet’s exactly what I done, Marthy. The Methodist Conference met at Blue Ridge last week. This here John Cleghorn were one of the young preachers in hit, bet they turned him out fer gittin’ drunk an’ hiccoughin’ while he wore preachin’. They were fer gittin’ rid of him afore ho spiled th’ holy repeitation of ther church. An’ I reckon they done right; er church hev ter be ez portickler oz er Pharisee erbout ’sociatln’ with publicans an’ sinners. Bet yo’ know I hain’t got no ropertation fer piety tor take keer of, so Booin’ him fixin’ ter hit th’ bottom, an’ not one of them goll-dorn preachers raisin’ er hand tor save him, I ’lowed ter bring him up here, an’ see of wo couldn’t sweat some of tli’ devilment outen him.” In the afternoon of this same day, Cleghorn opened hie eyes with a sigh o' exhaustion, and regarded the two figures seated beside the bed with rational interest. The absolute silence, the prim whiteness of Martha’s company* room, the two old brownies seated beside his bed, were all incredible to him. “ Yo’- lay still, son,” crooned the old man brownie. “We bad er time caetin’ th’ devil outen yo’ an’ hit hev lett yo’ powerful weak. Bet yo’ air sho’ ter strengthen up soon, for yo’ hev drunk five quarts of sweet milk terday. Marthy mighty nigh stripped th’ gall bladder outen Spicey gittin’ hit; an’ thet ole cow air rarin’ ’round th’ cuppin with her tail twisted at th’ injestice or bein’ milked four times in one day. Yo’ air plum full, son. ,’Twouldn’t e’priso meter see yo’ sweat cream !” “ Shot up, Pappy, afore yo’ turn his stomick ©vgin!” ] commanded Martha. “ An’ yo’ ontic Ins legs, ttfp!” sho continued, “ he’s thet weak lie can’t <;orvort no more.” Cleghorn closed his eyes and groan ed with mortification. “Mighty weak in th’ poodle!” commented Pappy, who was determined not to observe the delicacies of the situation. “Yo’ Ict.him.be, Pappy!” retorted Martha, who always adopted her husband’s quandom children with maternal fierceness.

Cleghorn’s condition was, indeed, serious, for it was one thing to recover gradually from a case of delirium tremens, cared for by a physician who gave the proper amount of stimulants, and quite another, according to the abstemious measures of a Braestown Valley reformer. But on the evening of the following day Pappy found him seated on the bench outside the door when he returned from the field. Martha’s high, treble rose with piercing melody inside the house.

“ She hain’t sung that hymn since our little boy died. Yo’r bein’ here puts her in mind of him,” he remarked confidentially. “But why am I here?” asked Cleghorn, who had no recollection of events after the closing scenes in the Confer-ence-room, where ho had been “silenced” by the bishop and deprived of his credentials. -■

“ 1 brung yo’ up here, son.” Pappy eat down beside him, prepared to go into particulars. “Them church. fellers dropped yo’, au’ yo’ 'celebrated by gittin’ on -or spree. Nov/ yo’ air ter 'stay here till yo’ git well. Maybe yo’ hain’t heered much of this valley. Hit’s jest or little green basin scooped outsn th’ very top of th’ Blue Badge—er sort of independent republic, founded upon igneranee and bliss. Wo hain’t no institutions, no laws, an’ thar’s nobody ter rule agin us bet th’ preacher an’ th’ jest ice of peace. We her one creed, which teaches original sin in innercent children, election for some folks, an’ predestination for all. An’_ thar’s half er dozen hymns which promise free salvation. Yo’ kin take yo’r choice. Still, this is er healthy place for th’ speret of man. I don’t keor much fer doctrines merself, bet this littbj valley do whisper of peace, now don’t http” He swept a gesture indicating the green and golden fields of corn and wheat. “ An’ them hills thet guards ns ©round, never ner gittin’ ’ tired, they seems ter bar witness ter somethin’ ’bother, eternal an’ everlastin’. An’ they air good company fer yo’, son. They’ll steady yo’ many a time wen ye’ oai-n’t steady yo’rself ef yo’ jest look at ’em right.” Th© inebriate young preacher felt the sympathy in the old man’s council so poignantly that he could not restrain a sob. “ Now don’t yo’ go tor gittin’ moved!” exclaimed Pappy anxiously. “ I know all erbput everything. I were a drinkin’ man* oust merself. Bet arfter th’ war, I wandered off up here an’ hit seemed ter me like I’d -found th’ very mind of God. Everything were so natchera! an’ fearless an’ quiet, hit rested me. I don’t know ez I kin explain, bet I got ter feelin’ kin’ ter them hills. Mer heart took on th’ greenness of th’ valley, an’ mer speret - hev got so free hit jest natchelly defies damnation. I hain’t. never been so ez I could quit cussjn’, bet I kin tell right from wrong afur ■ off. An’ no man nor doctrine kin obmo betwixt me an’ mer sight erlong them lines.” Cloghorn listened with deep emotion, and rightly interpreting Ids melancholy silence, Pappy continued: ■ “ Yo’ don’t hev ter say nothin’, ner promise anything, ner even hope yit. All yo’ gotter do is ter trust me an’ r Marthy. 1 Termor ror,” he went on,

changing,the subject adroitly, “I aim : ter cut th’ wheat yo’ see lollin’ so yal- ‘ lor clown thar in th’ moonlight, an’ i you’ kin foller th’ cradle ter bind. Hit won’t come handy at fust, bet yo’ll git use ter hit.. An’ afore th'e summer’s over I hope ter prove thet whatever preachers say, work air th’ main part | of the plan of salvation, ’cordin’ rater. An’ while hater hain’t much : of er theologian, I hain’t never knowed her tor slip up an’ let ©r thistle grow on or fig lush, nor disappint er man by growin’ tares wbar he sowed wheat! What yor gotter keep in mind is .thet nater air dead gam© erbout bein’ logical. She hain’t' no ©imagination an’ no Sentiment, bet she always does the’ squar thing, whether hit’s accordin’ ter j scripter or uot!” j This was really th© beginning of an j experiment which Pappy Corn made at reclaiming sinners, and which sheds much light upon that difficult business. Cleghorn never forgot th© first day of the redemptive process in the wheat, field. ' Befor© he had followed the era- i die binding sheaves two hours ho : craved a stimulant more than ho did J the restoration of any virtue. His , arms ached, his shirt clung to his ; shoulders drenched with perspiration,, j and from time to time he regarded i Pappy with sullen rage. The latter i stopped briskly down the wide swarth, swinging Ids cradle rhythmically, and looking like an ancient beetle doing a minuet on its hind legs. Cleghorn hated him for his cheerfulness, but at the moment when he felt he could endure this strain no longer the old man paused, whetted his scythe, and remarked interpretatively: “Yo’ air feelin’ cantankerous, I reckon, by now, an’ wantin’ er drink. Yo’ll be thet way off an’ on, bet when i the cravin’ comes, yo’ jest go down thar tor th’ spring branch at th’ hot- 1 tom of th’ field an’ help yo’rself. Thet kind of liquor don’t harm nobody. Yo’ kin drink till yo’ mighty nigh bust yo’r biler, an’ hit’ll jest make yo’ sweat more, which air good fer yo’. I told them Pharisees at Blue Ridge thet I aimed tor sweat the devilment outen yo’, an’ th’ more, water yo’ drinks th’ faster we’ll get erlong.” During the summer which followed, Cleghorn often availed himself of this invitation to the spring branch. He blistered, hardened, toughened, but there was no day when he did not do the requisite amount of what Pappy called “ moral sweatin’.” Once, in “ fodder pulling” time, he had fainted between the corn rows, only to find his mentor bending above him when he returned to consciousness with this inhuman comment: “ Yo’ hain’t sweatin’ enough, young man I Thet’s how come yo’r liver ter fling yo’. Jest lay thar under yo’r hat till yo’r head quits swimmin’, an’ then light inter work ©r loetlfe harder.” Again, when he had his first day cutting trees in the mountain forest, Pappy, observing his exhaustion, remarked:. . “ Yo’ air tired, son, bet one thing er man hev gotter learn in this blanied world is thet lie ©ain’t quit when lie’s tired onless he hev finished th’ job. Hit’s immoral tor shirk. Thet’s what them church ninnies done when they dropped yd’. They didn’t hev th’ speret ter’ do ther plain duty by yo’.” “And what was their plain duty?” demanded Cleghorn, who was by nature a taciturn man, and rarely made or encouraged conversation. “ Gcddlemighty, man 1 They’d oughter found er institution out on th’ bar ground, “endow hit with plough geer, axes an’ hoes, whar .fellers with yo’r disease could be made ter dig an’ plant an’ reap till they could git back ■ th’ moral savour of bein’ th’ salt of th’ ■ yearth. ’Twouldn’t cost nigh ez much ez hit do tor endow ev’ry little gimcrack college in the country, an’ hit would save er sight of good men thet air headin’ straight fer perdition in spite of th’ Greek an’ gospel they know!” ' , ’ ■ Cleghorn became gradually domesticated at the Corn homestead without becoming'socially acclimated in the valley. Neighbours dropped in occasionally, hoping to learn \something of this latest acquisition to Pajipy’s family, but he never took them into his confidence in these delicate matters, and no one know whether Cleghorn was a reformed highwayman or a discharged convict; “He means well, bet Pappy don’t .lev good taste in some things,” commented Bbb Teasley. “ An’ wo : all know his speret draws him to’ards th’ worst folks he kin find 1”

Meanwhile, Cleghorn was singularly docile, especially to Pappy, as if he had no hope in the experiment hut was gratefully willing to- please his friend and benefactor. This, however, was the whole expression of his life. Do what thoy would, he remained an exile who could not break into the warmth oftheir revealing speech with any confidence of his own. Thoy knew that he was unmarried, that he was a “ reformed ” man when he entered the ministry, and, of course, Martha inferred a love affair had ended unhappily. Pappy alone suspected the deep despondency which lay beneath his -reticence. “ "When er reformed man falls from grace, his case is hopeless, becaso ho thinks hit air. Now th’ toy feels th fight cornin’, an’ ho knows he h-ain t goin’ tor hold out. So he dassent give er way too much ter us, knowin’ how he air predestined ter dissappint us when th’ -test comes,” was Pappy s shrewd explanation. One day, a week later, he brought a load of corn into the barnyard, bad-zed tbo waggon against t-lio door ox the crib, and hurried into the kitchen where Martha was ironing Cloghorn-s one linen shirt. , . , ■“He’s fixin’ ter git drunk ©z sho ez j 7 o’ air horned,” he announced. “How kin he git drunk on spring water?” she demanded contemptuously. “Oh, he found Jim Cooper’s still on th’ rigd-e t’other day an’ he hev been shyin’ up thar over since smellin’ thet damn corn juice an’ eufl'erm temptation. Hit’s drawin’ him Im-rd, I tell you’ 1” . , “Well, why hain’t yo’ roportan tir still afore ho gits mint?” demanded Martha, spitting upon her iron to teso the - heat and then bringing it down with virtuous emphasis upon the -nuzzling linen. ~ “You cain’t break er colt from kickin’ by takin’ him outen the shafts, an’ yo’ cain’t stop er man from drinkin’ by hidin’ th’ bottle. He’ll scent one out eomewhar else. Th’ only thing ter do is ter give him seventy times seventy chances ter grow stronger than tn appetite. I never mentioned thet still ter Cleghorn becase I knowed th’ drinkin’ instinct ho hev would lead him to hit anyhow. An’ now thet he hev found hit, I hain’t goin’ tor spile his chances of manhood by pertectiu’ him ■ ez of he wa’n’t er maul” That night, balancing himself with bacchanalian grace upon an overturned malt vat in Jim Cooper’s still, John Cloghorn delivered the most eloquent sermon over heard in Brasstown Valley. Half a dozen rude mountaineers squatted about upon the floor in front of him and listened. There were signs of “conviction” among them, and the preacher was about to call up “ mourners ” when he espied Pappy Corn seated upoii the door-sill. Ho staggero-d from his perch, steadied himself and laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. The men upon the floor stumbled to their feet and retreated involuntarily. Then, with the soberness of concentrated fury, Cloghorn exclaimed: “ You old man of heaven, get out of my sight.. For months you .have kept a devil under your hand as a oat holds a mouse, tormenting mo with your

kindness. You’d aa well try to tamo Satan in Paradise. Go, before I kill youl” Ho advanced threateningly. But Pappy, who had been regarding him gravely, took his time. He stood up, nonchalantly knocked the ashes from his pipe and remarked; “The* were a _ good sermon, son—done well, considerin’ yo’r condition. Bet hit’s time ter go home now. This hain’t er proper roostin’ place for eoch er preacher.” Cleghorn held back, sobbed, than staggered into the arms of his rescuer. Watched from above by a group of shaggy outlaws, the.two went down the ridge together, one in maudlin tears, the - other tolerantly silent. The following morning they were in the blacksmith shop turning horsesheas. Cleghorn’e grip was packed and ho awaited a favourable opportunity for leaving his friends without the pain and embarrassment of a farewell scene. The first shoe w r as rounded before Pappy said, without looking at him; “ Son, ye’ needn’t worry erbout gittin’ drunk last night. ’Turn’n’t no more’n 'I expected. Bet so long ©z yo’, hov found thet still, yo’ll he obleeged ter stay ’round up thar till yo’ kin do hit ’thout gittin’ druhk.” He laid the bulldog nose of his sledge-hammer upon the anvil, straightened, and levelled his eyes upon Cleghorn, who stood by the bellows. “ in this hoy, yo’ cain’t back down ’thout foolin’ thet yo’ air er coward. ’Tain’t jest fightin’ man an’ beast thet proves or man’s grit. Yo’ getter hev tV spunk ter lick sell outen yo’r own soul. I hain’t much on scripter, bet I know ev’y dad blame one of us air endowed with er little pit of damnation somewhar inside, red hot an’ ready for us'ef we hain’t th’ courage an’ strength ter kick out an’ keep out.” Pappy caught the shoe in the tongs, thrust it in the furnace, while his companion grasped the old-fashioned bob lows and blew redly upon it. A moment later the mountainside echoed cheerfully with the ryhthmio strokes of hammer upon anvil and steel. But the blacksmith had not reached the oonclusiomof his lecture. When the shoe was finished, he dropped it into a tub of water, watched it sizzle a moment, then continued: “ I laid off ter clear new ground up thar erbout Jim Cooper’s this fall, an’ th’ way things hev turned out hit seems providential thet yo’ should take th’ ■job ontel yo’ git th’ best of th’ corn juice atmosphere on thet side of th’ ridge. -Now will yo’ do hit?” “ But how can I trust myself?” protested Cleghorn. , Th’ way ter kure temptation, son, air ter buck agin hit, an’ buck hard. I see yo’ hev packed ; yb’r things, bet tain’t no use to run. Wharever yo’ go thar’ll be somethin’ temptin’ yo’ ter drink'. Th’ Lord washed th’ whole yearth clean of sin once,, bet mighty nigh th’ fust thing thet feller Noah done when he got outen th’ ark were tor find er chansfc ter git drunk. Yo’ mought ez well stay long hero with me an’ Marthy an’ hev th’ fight out up thar in th’ new ground,” concluded the old man irresistibly. “I’ll do it, God bless you!” Cleghorn answered gratefully. “ Nov/ don’t yo’ go ter gittin’ moved,” warned Pappy, “ too much feelins air bad symptoms fer er man in yo’r condition. An’ don’t yo bo guilty of promisin’ anything. Thet ’ould be ez foolish ez er pore man givin’ his note fer er thousand dollars.” Thus was the compact sealed, and Cleghorn remained a year longer, cultivating all the land which lay along “ liquor, ridge ” without again falling a victim to his besetting sin. “ lie’d hev been here yit,” Pappy was accustomed to complain, “ef thet bishop, th’ very one thet turned him outen th’ church, hadn’t heered how well th’ boy were gittin’ on with his salvation. He come up here tdf see fer himself, an’ then he*.-offered Cleghorn er church out west somewhar, an’ I be goll dern, Mister, ef hitwa’n’t thet ole Pharisee’s darter he were engaged ter! ’Twan’t long afore mo an’ Marthy got invited ter th’ weddin’. An’ they tell me thet boy kin out-preach ary preacher in his Conference, bet I ’low he hain’t never equalled th’ sermon he give us thet night in Jim Cooper’s still!”