John Ward, Preacher | Page 3

talk. "Well," he said, knocking off his cigar ashes on the
arm of his chair, "everything ready for to-morrow, girls? Trunks packed
and gowns trimmed? We'll have to keep you, Helen, to see that the
house is put in order after all this turmoil; don't you think so, Lois?"
Here the rector yawned secretly.
"You needn't worry about order, father," Lois said, lifting her head
from her cousin's shoulder, her red lower lip pouting a little, "but I wish
we could keep Helen."
"Do you hear that, Mr. Ward?" the rector said. "Yes, we're all going to
miss the child very much. Gifford Woodhouse was saying to-day
Ashurst would lose a great deal when she went. There's a compliment
for you, Helen! How that fellow has changed in these three years
abroad! He's quite a man, now. Why, how old is he? It's hard for us
elders to realize that children grow up."
"Giff is twenty-six," Lois said.
"Why, to be sure," said Dr. Howe, "so he is! Of course, I might have
known it: he was born the year your brother was, Lois, and he would
have been twenty-six if he'd lived. Nice fellow, Gifford is. I'm sorry
he's not going to practice in Mercer. He has a feeling that it might
interfere with Denner in some way. But dear me, Denner never had a
case outside Ashurst in his life. Still, it shows good feeling in the boy;
and I'm glad he's going to be in Lockhaven. He'll keep an eye on Helen,
and let us know if she behaves with proper dignity. I think you'll like
him, Mr. Ward,--I would say John,--my dear fellow!"

There was a lack of sympathy on the part of the rector for the man at
his side, which made it difficult for him to drop the formal address, and
think of him as one of the family. "I respect Ward," he said once to his
sister,--"I can't help respecting him; but bless my soul, I wish he was
more like other people!" There was something about the younger man,
Dr. Howe did not know just what, which irritated him. Ward's
earnestness was positively aggressive, he said, and there seemed a sort
of undress of the mind in his entire openness and frankness; his
truthfulness, which ignored the courteous deceits of social life, was a
kind of impropriety.
But John Ward had not noticed either the apology or the omission; no
one answered the rector, so he went on talking, for mere occupation.
"I always liked Gifford as a boy," he said; "he was such a manly fellow,
and no blatherskite, talking his elders to death. He never had much to
say, and when he did talk it was to the point. I remember once seeing
him--why, let me see, he couldn't have been more than
fifteen--breaking a colt in the west pasture. It was one of Bet's fillies,
and as black as a coal: you remember her, don't you, Lois?--a beauty! I
was coming home from the village early in the morning; somebody was
sick,--let me see, wasn't it old Mrs. Drayton? yes,--and I'd been sent for;
it must have been about six,--and there was Gifford struggling with that
young mare in the west pasture. He had thrown off his coat, and caught
her by the mane and a rope bridle, and he was trying to ride her. That
blonde head of his was right against her neck, and when she reared he
clung to her till she lifted him off his feet. He got the best of her,
though, and the first thing she knew he was on her back. Jove! how she
did plunge! but he mastered her; he sat superbly. I felt Gifford had the
making of a man in him, after that. He inherits his father's pluck. You
know Woodhouse made a record at Lookout Mountain; he was killed
the third day."
"Gifford used to say," said Helen, "that he wished he had been born in
time to go into the army."
"There's a good deal of fight in the boy," said the rector, chuckling.
"His aunts were always begging him not to get into rows with the

village boys. I even had to caution him myself. 'Never fight, sir,' I'd say;
'but if you do fight, whip 'em!' Yes, it's a pity he couldn't have been in
the army."
"Well," said Lois, impatiently, "Giff would have fought, I know, but
he's so contradictory! I've heard him say the Southerners couldn't help
fighting for secession; it was a principle to them, and there was no
moral wrong about it, he said."
"Oh, nonsense!" cried the rector; "these young men, who haven't borne
the burden and heat of the day, pretend to instruct us, do they? No
moral wrong? I thought