Keziah Coffin

by Joseph Crosby Lincoln

therefore he preached for dear life.

  And Keziah Coffin, in the third pew from the back, watched him intently,her mind working in sympathetic unison with his. She was not one tobe greatly influenced by first impressions, but she had been favorablyimpressed by this young fellow, and had already begun to feel that senseof guardianship and personal responsibility which, later on, was to makeCaptain Zebedee Mayo nickname the minister "Keziah's Parson."

  The sermon was a success.

  CHAPTER IV

  IN WHICH KEZIAH'S PARSON DECIDES TO RUN IT BLINDFOLD

  On Monday afternoon the minister made a few calls. Keziah made out ashort list for him to follow, a "sort of chart of the main channel," shecalled it, "with the safe ports marked and the shoals and risky placeslabeled dangerous."

  "You see," she said, "Trumet ain't a course you can navigate with youreyes shut. We divide ourselves into about four sets--aristocrats, poorrelations, town folks, and scum. The aristocrats are the big bugs likeCap'n Elkanah and the other well-off sea captains, afloat or ashore.They 'most all go to the Regular church and the parish committee issteered by 'em. The poor relations are mainly widows and such, whosehusbands died or were lost at sea. Most of them are Regulars. The townfolks are those that stay ashore and keep store or run salt works orsomethin'. And the scum work around on odd jobs or go fishin'. So, ifyou really want to be safe, you must call on the aristocrats first,after that on the poor relations, and so on down. You won't be botheredwith scum much; they're mainly Come-Outers."

  Ellery took the list from her hand and looked it over.

  "Hum!" he said musingly. "Am I supposed to recognize these--er--classdistinctions?"

  "Yes. That is, not in meetin' or sewin' circle or anything like that, ornot out and out and open anywhere. But you want to cultivate a sort ofdifferent handshake and how-dy-do for each set, so's to speak. Gush allyou want to over an aristocrat. Be thankful for advice and always SOglad to see 'em. With the poor relations you can ease up on the gush andmaybe condescend some. Town folks expect condescension and superiority;give it to 'em. When it comes to scum, why--well, any short kind of abow and a 'Mornin' 'll do for them. 'Course the Lord, in His infinitemercy, made 'em, same as He did potato bugs, but it's necessary to keepboth bugs and them down to their proper place."

  She delivered this in the intervals between trips to the kitchen withthe dinner dishes. The minister listened with a troubled expression onhis face.

  "Mrs. Coffin," he said, "I guess I'm dull. There was a Scotch professorat college and the fellows used to say his bump of humor was a dent.Maybe mine isn't much better. Are you joking?"

  Keziah stacked the cups and saucers.

  "I ain't jokin'," she declared. "I've been a poor relation in thisvillage for a good while and my brother was a shoemaker and on the upperfringe of the town-folk class. My humor bump would have to stick up likeCannon Hill afore I could see any joke in that."

  "But you're not seriously advising me to treat a rich man differentlyfrom a poor one?"

  "Not openly different--no. But if you want to steer a perfectly SAFEcourse, one that'll keep deep water under your keel the whole voyage,why, there's your chart."

  Mr. Ellery promptly tore the "chart" into small pieces.

  "I'm going out," he said. "I shall be back by supper time."

  Mrs. Coffin eyed him grimly.

  "Goin' to run it blindfold, are you?" she asked.

  "Yes, I am."

  Her grimness disappeared and she smiled.

  "I'll have your supper ready for you," she said. "Bring back a goodappetite."

  The young man hesitated on the threshold.

  "Mrs. Coffin," he demanded, "would YOU have called only on thearistocrats at first?"

  She shook her head, smiling still.

  "No," she replied, "not me. I've always taken risks. But I didn'tknow but you might be a safe sailor. It saves a lot of trouble in thisworld."

  "How about the next?"

  "Oh, well, perhaps even the scum may count for somethin' over there."She turned to face him and her smile vanished. "Go on, Mr. Ellery," shesaid. "Go and call where you please. Far be it from me that I shouldtell you to do anything else. I suppose likely you hope some day to bea great preacher. I hope you will. But I'd enough sight rather you was agood man than the very greatest. No reason why you can't be both. Therewas a preacher over in Galilee once, so you told us yesterday, who wasjust good. 'Twa'n't till years afterwards that the crowd came to realizethat he was great, too. And, if I recollect right, he chummed in withpublicans and sinners. I'm glad you tore up that fool paper of mine. Ihoped you might when I gave it to you. Now you run along, and I'll washdishes. If cleanliness is next to godliness, then a parson ought to eatout of clean plates."

  As a matter of fact, the minister's calls were in the nature of acompromise, although an unintentional one. He dropped in on ZebedeeMayo, owner of the big house on the slope of the hill. Captain Zeb tookhim up into what he called his "cupoler," the observatory on the top ofthe house, and showed him Trumet spread out like a map. The main roadwas north and south, winding and twisting its rutted, sandy way. Alongit were clustered the principal houses and shops, shaded by silver-leafpoplars, a few elms, and some willows and spruces. Each tree bentslightly away from the northeast, the direction from which blew theheavy winter gales. Beyond the main road were green slopes and pastures,with swamps in the hollows, swamps which were to be cranberry bogs inthe days to come. Then the lower road, with more houses, and, fartheron, the beach, the flats--partially uncovered because it was hightide--and the bay.

  Behind the Mayo house was the crest of Cannon Hill, more hills, pasturesand swamps, scattered houses and pine groves. Then began the tumbled,humped waste of sand dunes, and, over their ragged fringes of beach plumand bayberry bushes, the deep blue of the wide Atlantic. The lighthousewas a white dot and the fish shanties a blotch of brown. Along the inneredge of the blue were scars of dancing white, the flashing teeth ofhungry shoals which had torn to pieces and swallowed many a good ship.And, far out, dotted and sprinkled along the horizon, were sails.

  "See?" said Captain Zeb, puffing still from the exertion of climbingthe ladder to the "cupoler," for he was distinctly "fleshy." "See? Thebeacon's up. Packet come in this mornin'. There she is. See her downthere by the breakwater?"

  Sure enough, the empty barrel, painted red, was hoisted to the top ofits pole on the crest of Cannon Hill. And, looking down at the bay andfollowing the direction of the stubby pointing finger, Ellery saw alittle schooner, with her sails lowered, lying, slightly on her side,in a shallow pool near a long ridge of piled stones--the breakwater. Asmall wharf made out from the shore and black figures moved briskly uponit. Carts were alongside the schooner and there more dots were busy.

  "Eben's pennant's flyin'," said Captain Zeb. "He always sets colorswhen the packet's in. Keeps packet tavern, Eben does. That's it, thatold-fashioned, gambrel-roofed house on the rise by the wharf. Call it'Saints' Rest,' they do now, 'cause Eben's so mighty religious."

  The minister saw the long, rambling house, with one lonely, twisted treein its yard, a flag flying from a pole beside it. So that was wherethe Hammonds lived. And where the girl lived who was certain he was a"conceited snippet." Whatever he might be in reality he hoped it was notthat. "Snippet" was not in his dictionary, but he didn't like the soundof it.

  "Who owns the packet?" he asked, to make conversation.

  "Zach Foster. Married Freewill Doane's daughter over to Harniss. She'sdead now."

  "A good sailor, is he?"

  Captain Zeb spat in supreme disgust.

  "Good farmer!" he snorted. "Zach took over the packet for a debt whenthe chap that used to run her died. His dad, old man Foster, raisedgarden truck at the same time mine went to sea. Both of us took afterour fathers, I guess. Anyhow, my wife says that when I die 'twill be ofsalt water on the brain, and I'm sure Zach's head is part cabbage. Beenbetter for him if he'd stuck to his garden. However, I s'pose he doeshis best."

  "They
say angels can do no more."

  "Um-m. Well, Zach'll be an angel pretty soon if he keeps on cruisin'with that old hooker as she is. 'Bijah Perry, he's mate and the onlygood seaman aboard, tells me that most of the riggin's rotten and themain topmast ain't sound, by a good deal. The old man's put off havin'her overhauled for two reasons, one that repairs cost money, and t'otherthat puttin' off is the main sheet of his