The Case of the Ward Lane Tabernacle | Page 4

made him realise it. But somehow he persevered. He
wanted to know if I would go to some place of worship that he called
his 'Tabernacle.' I asked him who was the pastor. He said himself. I
asked him how many members of the congregation there were, and (the
man was as solemn as an owl. I assure you, Mr. Hewitt) he actually
said five! I kept my countenance and asked why such a small number
couldn't attend church, or at any rate attach itself to some decent
Dissenting chapel. And then the man burst out; mad--mad as a hatter.
He was as incoherent as such people usually are, but as far as I could
make out he talked, among a lot of other things, of some imaginary
woman--a woman standing on the moon and driven into a wilderness
on the wings of an eagle. The man was so madly possessed of his
fancies that I assure you for a while he almost ceased to look ridiculous.
He was so earnest in his rant. But I soon cut him short. It's best to be
severe with these people--it's the only chance of bringing them to their
senses. 'Reuben Penner,' I said 'shut up! Your mother was a very decent
person in her way, I believe, but she was half a lunatic with her
superstitious notions, and you're a bigger fool than she was. Imagine a
grown man, and of your age, coming and asking me, of all people in
the world, to leave my church and make another fool in a congregation
of five, with you to rave at me about women in the moon! Go away and

look after your greengrocery, and go to church or chapel like a sensible
man. Go away and don't play the fool any longer; I won't hear another
word!'
"When I talk like this I am usually attended to, and in this case Penner
went away with scarcely another word. I saw nothing of him for about
a month or six weeks and then he came and spoke to me as I was
cutting roses in my front garden. This time he talked--to begin with, at
least--more sensibly. 'Mrs. Mallett,' he said, 'you have in your keeping a
very sacred relic.'
"'I have,' I said, 'left me by my great-uncle Joseph. And what then?'
"'Well'--he hummed and hawed a little--'I wanted to ask if you might be
disposed to part with it.'
"'What?' I said, dropping my scissors-- 'sell it?'
"'Well, yes,' he answered, putting on as bold a face as he could.
"The notion of selling my uncle Joseph's snuff-box in any possible
circumstances almost made me speechless. 'What!' I repeated. 'Sell
it?--sell it? It would be a sinful sacrilege!'
"His face quite brightened when I said this, and he replied, 'Yes, of
course it would; I think so myself, ma'am; but I fancied you thought
otherwise. In that case, ma'am, not being a believer yourself, I'm sure
you would consider it a graceful and a pious act to present it to my little
Tabernacle, where it would be properly valued. And it having been my
mother's property----'
"He got no further. I am not a woman to be trifled with, Mr. Hewitt,
and I believe I beat him out of the garden with my basket. I was so
infuriated I can scarcely remember what I did. The suggestion that I
should sell my uncle Joseph's snuff-box to a greengrocer was bad
enough; the request that I should actually give it to his 'Tabernacle' was
infinitely worse. But to claim that it had belonged to his mother--well I
don't know how it strikes you, Mr. Hewitt, but to me it seemed the last

insult possible."
"Shocking, shocking, of course," Hewitt said, since she seemed to
expect a reply. "And he called you an unbeliever, too. But what
happened after that?"
"After that he took care not to bother me personally again; but these
wretched anonymous demands came in, with all sorts of darkly hinted
threats as to the sin I was committing in keeping my own property.
They didn't trouble me much. I put 'em in the fire as fast as they came,
until I began to find I was being watched and followed, and then I kept
them."
"Very sensible," Hewitt observed, "very sensible indeed to do that. But
tell me as to these papers. Those you have here are nearly all in one
handwriting, but some, as I have already said, are in another. Now
before all this business, did you ever see Reuben Penner's
handwriting?"
"No, never."
"Then you are not by any means sure that he has written any of these
things?"
"But then who else could?"
"That of course is a thing to be found out. At present, at