The Preacher’s Bodyguard

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLV, Issue 18, 2 November 1910, Page 55

The Preacher’s Bodyguard

Copyright Story.

By

Theodore Wilson Wilson,

author of “ Bess of

Hardendale,” Etc,

®EING a boy, Gilbert, or popularly “Gil” Dawson’s immediate notion •on seeing an empty bottle reposing on the rails, was to chuek a etone at it. Having yielded to this necessity of his nature, he returned to his newer self, that of a business man, just promoted to the charge of a miniature bookstall.

In this capacity he waxed anxious, on not immediately perceiving his supplies in the van of the incoming train. “Where is ’um?” he remarked to the station master, referring to his goods. “Is that how they teach you td talk in the Board School?” retorted the station master, who was a superior article from the south. “Where is ’um at?” corrected Gil with confidence —then made a dash on perceiving his parcel. “You’re terribly gay to-day!” laughed the old porter. “What’s up?” “You mean thia, eh?” and Gil pulled at a shining red tie with orange spots. “My father’s got himself converted — that's what! You’d know, if your father had tumbled to drink ever since you ■were a babby!” “What?” said the porter incredulously. He knew something of Harry Dawson. “Aye! Right down properly saved! None of your cheap frauds isn’t my father—you bet!” and Gil began setting out his stall industriously. “Couldn’t go the whole hog myself, remarked Gil meditatively, “but at the weekend it makes a difference! Why ” and he laughed gaily, “Schoolmaster once gave us monev-’boxes a-piece to save for a trip; but I soon set him straight! •Where’s the use of money if your father takes beer?’ I told 'him. ‘Why he'd find it if I swallered it'.’Mßut it’s not all .beer and skittles being converted neither;” he added with a sage wink. .“I hope it isn’t!” laughed a fresh young voice, and Gil turned to see Miss Polly, the Preacher’s grand-daughter, holding out her penny.

. Gil admired Miss Polly. She was a year younger than himself, with funny black * eyes, and a merry mouth. She was very clever, for she could play the harmonium at the meeting. It was a continual marvel to him that she could be so merry, and yet live with so grave a person as the Preacher. lie turned smartly to his stall, whipped out the paper, folded it, and handed it to her in a twinkling. He held his chin higher than his usual custom, hoping she would notice the tie. Perhaps she did. Perhaps she did not. What she said was. "This stall grows grander every time I come, Mr. Dawson. I'm going to spend sixpence sometime.” Gil blushed witli delight, and visions opened of himself behind the counter of a bookseller’s shop in t'he next town, with some one, no longer Miss. Polly, to help him and shine upon the innumerable customers. Now Gil’s father had certainly found that he had entered upon more than he quite understood when he became what his son called “converted.” Though peace began to spread itself over his home, a most unlooked for difficulty had arisen in the antagonism of his mate “Mattha” Storey, who took upon him to consider Hal’s new attitude, as a personal insult to himself. Therefore. Mattha relieved his spirit by roaring mockingly at his old mate when they met, by hindering him at his work in the quarry, by shouting insults from his own doorstep for the benefit of the neighbours and Hal's wife and children. Hal, however, could not forget the night when he looked spell bound into the calm face of the old Preacher—a face shining as from the very presence of the Hord—the night when with an inspired leap of imagination, he had discovered that he. was missing the very-glory of existence, and the treasures of his

Father’s house, by clinging to the Prodigal’s part.

•So filled with wonder indeed was he at himself and his strange experience, that as yet he had held his peace and let Mattha do his worst. But at the .prayer meeting he poured out his soul in -simple supplication that lie might stand the “'■persecution of the enemy.” “Lord,” he cried, “Thou knows I have often been prosecuted to jail, and well deserved it — but save poor old Mattha! Thou knows we’ve been mates for the devil! Break him down, Lord, and bring him in!” “This kind comet'h not out, but by prayer and fasting!” thought the Preacher, and his prayer and fasting continued in deep heart agony, as he followed in spirit the conflict fought out by his “children.” It was no light tiling to seek to rouse the things of the spirit in men and women who had drifted into lives unworthy of the very beasts that

perish. Among the Black Edge villagers, there had never been such a sensation as when Hal Dawson gave up the drink. The

antagonism of his mate was watched with keen relish, and Mattha found a certain backing; but on the whole the sympathy was with Hal, who had always been considered a good chap when out of beer; and there was a general concensus of opinion that a good thrashing would be of inestimable benefit to Mattha. When Hal. driven to desperation by some exceptionally vile taunts tentatively suggested to the Preacher that he had an idea that the Lord was wanting him to show Mattha his place, the Preacher groaned. “Dawson—Dawson —don’t let the devil deceive you, Tn the world ye shall have tribulation’—‘Be of good cheer I have overcome the world.’ ” And Hal, possessing unbounded faith in his guide, went home depressed. Now his son Gil, bookstall manager, had been watching events with extraordinary interest, as altogether beyond the horizon of his experience. Used from childhood to kicks received and kicks delivered, he was filled with amazement, as day after day his father deliberately refrained from “going for” the enemy. “Couldn't ta bash his ugly mouth in, Dad?” he asked solicitously. “Nay, Gil, lad! I'se converted. I can’t,” and he sighed, vaguely etruck at

this new tone of sympathy from his son. This was a poser. “It’s a job when a man’s converted,

seemingly,” said Gil. “Aye—‘The servant of the Lord must not strive,' the Preacher saye.” J “But David gave Goliath’ One in the face! And a deal of them Bible' folk gave a good dressing down to them as bothered them! ” ’ *‘Aye,” said Hal, and it must be ad; mitted that he gave a sigh of envy for good times past. “But the Preacher says we are in the New Testament now. Them Old Testament folk was not to go by, and he says,” and Hal dropped his voice with a new reverence, “that He— Jesus Christ—never fought: not the worst on ’em.” That night Gil got hold of a Bible, a book lie would have scorned to be seen with in an ordinary way, and remarked courageously to his father that lie would “get him out of it yet!” For three nights Gil plunged into his New Testament as absorbedly as.though he were tracking the fate of some mighty hero.>if the bookstall, and for three nights Mattha became increasingly offensive, and Gil fairly tingled to “go for” him himself. “I’ll have td, if thoo doesn’t!” he said desperately. “It’s good job as there’s someone in the family as isn’t converted!” “Don’t thee talk like that, Gil!” groaned his father. “The devil's fair tugging at my arms!” And Gil was growing discouraged himself, for throughout the Gospels he could find nothing that seemed to justify his father in fighting. The awkward passage about turning the other cheek was a constant checkmate, and though Gil was a School

Medallist for Scripture Knowledge, when he come to the last accounts of the Chief Sufferer, he read them with a new and extraordinary interest. His odd young soul expanded for the first time in a mighty admiration. ‘‘There’ll never be another like Him!” he said to himself seriously. Thon he clenched his fists and straightened his broad shoulders, “If He had only had me!” he muttered. The Acts were quite as disheartening. These Apostles seemed to put up with anything. A ray of hope dawned on him, as he discovered that St. Paul once saved himself from a flogging—otherwise the whole book seemed hopelessly against him. - But bravely- tackling the Epistles, and arriving towards the middle of the fifteenth chapter of the Epistle to the Corinthians, Gil suddenly astounded his father by giving a shout of triumph. “Done him! We've .Tone him. Dad!” “Eh?” cried Hal from his chimney corner. “Thoo’p not found notvt, eh?” “Yon Mattha Storey is nowt but a great beast, isn't he2.” demanded the eon. “Aye, lad—a beast ho is for sure.” “Then I’ve gotten it! Look here! St. Paul himself—and folk can't reckon, to be better nor ,St. Paul himself, ho ‘fought with beasts at Ephesus!’” and

the boy pointed with grimy finger at the small print. “I’m no scholar, Gil lad!” eaid his father eagerly. “Does it say that? Certain sure?" “Certain sure! ‘I have- fought with ■beasts at Ephesus,’ them’s the words.” “It’s queer as the Preacher never came upon them.”... ‘‘The Bible's a terri'ble big book,” said Gil excusingly, and added with a touch of pride, “Any one might have missed ’em! There's only one thing—” “Aye?” “About that check turning. Its fearful plain about them cheeks!” and the shadow of perplexity lingered on his hot excited face. “I’ll manage for that, Gil! I’ll manage for that!” said Hal with a resolute air, as of a man who has got his marching orders. That night Hal slept peacefully enough, and after having “told the Lord” what he was going to do, he rose next morning under a stern sense of responsibility. All through the day he bore with his tormentor. He was determined that no personal insult should bring him down the punishment; and Gil closed his stall at least five minutes early in order that lie might be sure to be home in time. It was Thursday, and a bad day for Mattha. He was short of cash, and in those happy old days Hal had often stood treat; so full of a vague wrath he came loafing up, and waxing impudent, strongly suggested that Hal was a welladjectived coward, and deliberately insulted Hal’s wife. “Drop that!” said Hal warningly. , “Right, my lad! I’ll drop it there!” sneered the other, striking Hal suddenly on cheek.

Hal turned the other to him and waited. ;i |, •

“Ach! Thoo won’t fight, eh? Thoo sneaking Psalm-singing coward!” and he reddened Hal’s other cheek. Then Hal’s time came. “Thoo’s struck me on one cheek, and I’ve let tha strike me on the other—now it's my turn!” and he drew off his coat deliberately. Mattha stared, and the neighbours who had stood afar off gathered closer. Gil’s heart beat quickly, and lua eyes lit up excitedly. Ho tooku h> s lather’s coat and held it for him. “Now then, my lad. I'm going to lick the devil out of tha! Is ta ready?” Even Mattha, cowardly bully as ho was, dared not run away in full face of that crowd. The fight was of brief duration, and thickset Hal gave his neighbour such a thrashing as sent him cursing to his cottage. Afterwards the neighbours vied with each other in hearty congratulations, until they saw the Preacher coming down the road. Then they quietly dwindled away, and the Preacher closed the door on himself, Hal, Mrs. Dawson, and Gil. “So you have done it after all,” he said sadly. "Yes, sir, I have," said Hal firmly. “And you think the Lord would say

•Well done, good and faithful servant,’ tor this evening’s work?” “I think He would," said Hal, but Oil trembled, eyeing the Preacher with strained anxiety. “We had to have peace,” said Hal wistfully, as the Preacher remained silent. ‘“When a man’s ways please the Lord, he maketh even his enemies to he at peace with him,’ ” quoted the Pretu-her. “You wouldn’t have fought him, sir?” asked Hal anxiously. “Far he it from me to blame you, Dawson. Had I been tried as you have been tried, 1 might have done the same. J don’t think I should—but 1 might have done. To his own master a man stands or falls!” And Gil watching the Jjittle 'scene ■was awestruck at the deep humility of the man. And the soul of the boy was knit to the soul of the Preacher. “Yon’s a saint!” said Hal, as the door closed. “It takes a saint to hold in, thinking as he thinks of this night’s job!” “ft *ud take a deal of hard sweating to be like him!” said Gil. “If it *ud do poor old Mat th a any good in his soul to give n»e a thrashing, I’d stand honest and let him do it ! Mattha and me was mates!” said Hal sorrow- • fully. But such on attitude was beyond Gil. He departed to boast of his father's prowess to the other boys.

The immediate result of the thrashing was that Mattha left Hal alone, and outward peace \va» restored. But added to the fierce resentment in iMatt ha's - mind for the. .humiliation he had received before the whole village, iwas a sense of indefinable disappointment. Through his dull brain a glimmer of new had arisen, as day, after day hi.-, mate resisted him. But now Hal had, as it were, descended to his level. Hal had become as other men. Moreover now having a wholesome awe of his mate, he must needs seek a new channel for the stream of his irritation, ami he found it in the Preacher. Gil was hurrying home, in keen expectation of a savoury supper, when •hearing voices beyond the l>end in the road, he stopped short to listen as Maltha’s strong voice could be heard clearly, as he cursed the Preacher. “What need was there for thee to come down amongst us!'* be shouted, •‘’ruining all the villagers into canting whining fools with thy religion! Look at lid Dawson what is thy religion when tliey get it. eh? Fights his own (mate, as has been mates since we took our first rabbit! What, lie hasn't spirit enough to lake out a dog of a Sunday, let alone let. him slip! But he can fight hi-* own mate! 'rhe- hypocrite!” “It would be as well, Matthew Storey,” Raid (In* Preacher quietly, “if you were ♦n take service uiwler the "Master yourRelf, tn show Uh how best we may follow’ Him!*

Gil prized himself up, and peeped through a clunk in the hedge, and started as he saw Miss Polly clinging to her grandfather’s arm. “Scared is she?” thought Gil, and he crept nearer. 'The man laughed a hoarse laugh at the Preacher’s suggestion. “What doesn’t ta clear out for, I say—and mind thy own business?” “I cannot leave this neighbourhood until my work is done. I must gather you into the Kingdom yet Matthew Storey.” And the Preacher looked him. full in the face. “Your work!” and he swore lustily. “Now look here, old man. Thoo’ll just take thyself Lack to where thoo came from, or I’ll have to 'show tha the way! Tve made up my mind there shall be an end of this!” Gil was now quite round the corner. “Matthew Storey, let the Lord have His way with you,” said the Preacher. “Eh, would ta!” shouted Gil, leaping forward, and pushing the Preacher aside. He caught the blow of Mattha’s stout stick on his shoulder. He wrenched it out of his hand, and flung it along the road. “Hal’s whelp!” mocked Mattha startled. “Thoo dares!” cried Gil mad with anger, and writhing witli pain. “Off thoo gets, or I’ll set some one on tha, as ’ll stiffen tha up!” Polly had cried one little short cry,

and stood still clinging to her grandfather. “Gilbert Lawson, bring me that .stick,” said the Preacher. Gil did so, “Here, Matthew' Storey,” -he said quietly. “Take it. It is yours."’ Gil utered an exclamation, but the Preacher knew his mind. “Come, Polly, my dear. Come, Gilbert Dawson.” And the three walked on towards the village, leaving Mattha staring at them. “Does it hurt dreadfully,” asked Miss Polly, looking shyly at Gil. “It’s nowt!” said Gil coolly, “now’t at all!” But the Preacher turned and took the boy’s hand in his firm grasp. “It was grandly done,” he said with enthusiasm, “grandly done, Gilbert Dawson. The Lord reward thee!” At which Gil was too overpoweringly abashed to reply. “Who was that!” asked Miss Polly, as her grandfather returned to his evehiug meal after a short absence from the table. “A soul in the devil’s service, my dear! Pray that 1 may have a word in season at the High Fell Meeting to-night.” “I hate you to go off on those lonely ways!” said Polly, anxiety dimming her bright eyes. “Do let me go with you—just fox once!” “No, no!” lie suid hastily. “Four miles over the fell! It is quite out

of the question, my dear,” he said, mor* quietly. “Can’t some of the men go with you?* “Most of them are off in another direction to-night, holding a meeting at the Cross Roads. ‘What are you afraid of, - my dear? The Lord is a mightier body guard than a few wild quarrymen!” “I know —or I ought to know!” and she half smiled. “Yet—if only you had Hal Dawson —” “Poor Hal! I don’t think that so far he has found his bed any easier! Good-night, child. Do not wait up for me.” “Good-night, Grandfather,” and she kissed him. A quarter of an hour afterward the landlady came in. “Miss—l can’t bear no longer—seems I must say it! That man as came before he left —he spoke rough to your grandfather! iSaid that he would do for him to-night, if he took any of his preaching to High Fell! Said that God Almighty Himself could not stop him!” The girl sprang to her feet. “Oh, .Mrs. Simms, how could -on! Why didn’t you tell me sooner I" Without any fixed plan, she rushed upstairs, and flung her things on. She must pass through the village to strike the Fell road. In the half light of the April night, she found Dawson’s cottage. She knocked and entered. “Oh, Mr. Dawson!” she gasped.

Hal was seated with his leg up on a chair. “Oh!” she cried, and stopped short. “Anything the matter?” “My ankle—given it a twist, misswhy-—” “Oh!” she cried, “and Grandfather has set off up the fell, and I wanted you so! Matthew Storey—lie has threatened — Oh, is there no one who can come and stop him?” Gil sprang up. ‘ What? What, Miss Polly? Someone going to touch the Preacher?” “He said — Oh, he . said that God Almighty himself could not stop him!” cried Polly. Hal was horror struck. “Gil, lad!” lie cried. “Off with her! Off with her for th'y life — Oh, lad, lad, I’se doubting the Preacher is catching it instead of me! Tel) him, tell Mattha, to come along and thrash me if he wants someone to thrash. Tell him he’s got me fast now! Tell him to let the Preacher a-be!” But Polly could hardly wait to hear the finish of the message, and in a few minutes she and Gil were racing onwards over the fell. That anything should happen to the Preacher because of Mattha’s antagonism to his father was appalling to Gu. Though young, he felt himself strong—■ equal to" anything just now. His presence with the Preacher might be some protection.

“We*t you stay here and wait, Mias Polly,” he said to the girl, as he heard her panting 'breath beside him. “Ko, oh, no!” eried Polly. They were out on the open fell, and far in the distance the Preacher -was dimly visible. “I should go faster if—” suggested Gil anxiously. “I’ll sit down here if you like!” said Polly with a mighty self-effacement. But another moment, and a great figure leaped out from behind a boulder, and seized Gil by the arm. In the half light, the boy looked up into the terrified face of Mattha. The man was speechless. The grip of his fingers made Gil set his teeth. The Preacher at any rate was nearly over the fell top—every moment he could delay the man was of importance. “Well?” he said, for the terror in the man’s face was communicating itself to him. “Well?” and he wrenched himself away and stood over by Miss Polly, who had stumbled on to the bank, and was now staring at the two in terrified silence. “And why didn’t ta strike him?” Mattha’s face was ghostly with an awful fear. “Speak, thoo great coward!” said Gil, recovering himself. “Why didn’t ta strike?” “There are Two of them,” said the man, pointing up the fell with a trembling finger. Gil and Miss Polly looked also, but; saw only the Preacher outlined against the dying sun-glow.