Dominie Dean

r Benedict had his faults, medical and otherwise. Calomel in tooth-destroying quantities was one and his periodical sprees were all the rest. His list of professional

vid's easy-chair with a yawn (people would not let him have a good night's

ead's wife. She's

touch of sciatica. No, she's well. She don't com

s him!" D

nto his grave. He has hardened his heart and he curses the God that made him. Davy, he

rned in

u were right, Benedict.

ict had ample time to tell all he knew of Hinch. For five days the man had refused to eat. He sat in his chair and cursed his God for bring

Davy, but if there is one of the kind can soften his heart you are the one. Hates?" The doctor shook his head. "No, he thinks

got a letter at the post office. It's t

icked it up and

e, too, building up a farm and Fate made it a battlefield. Raiders took his stock first, then one army, and after that the other, made his farm a camp and between them they made it a desert, burning his buildings. He had a boy of fourteen, a

ake him hate the

other tells me. He was nineteen. The letter that came the other day said the lad had

l hate it,"

id and the doctor in. No doubt she felt the loss of her son as deeply as old Hinch himself felt it, but Fate had taken vigor out of her soul before this blow fell. Her nervous hands clasped and unclasped, and she looked at Benedict wit

d his grasp on the old man's arm. It was more than a prayer; it was a stream of comfort flowing straight from his heart. He prayed long. The wife ceased her nervous clasping an

lass stood on it, the lamp chimney broken and patched with scorched paper. The afternoon waned and old Hinch ceased his muttering, but David prayed on. He

pened and Rose Hinch came in. She stood a moment in the doorway, her sunbonnet pushed back, taking in the scen

patched, but her face, protected by the sunbonnet, was untouched by tan. It was a face like that of a madonna, sweet and calm. Her hair, parted in the middle, had been drawn back s

blasphemed no more; his mood was one of saner sorrow. The wife sat with him, and David, seeing that Rose-after a day of man's work in the field-must care for the scanty stock

when he made his last visit, but when David arrived Samuel Wiggett was there. No doubt the farm was to be put up at tax sale and Wiggett

doctor's company. To see David and Benedict together at the home of the Copperhead was bad indeed, and to see the evident friendship existing betw

ers as well as for the men at the front, and David's pastoral duties seemed to crowd upon him. Three of the "boys," sent home to die, lay in their b

e stories that were told about David during those days agree. The tales were a conglomerate of unpleasant lies in which disloyalty, infatuation for the Copperhead's daughter, hypocrisy, unhallowed love

ed at the manse, leaving a small parcel and a note for David. The parcel held the cheap little

was a calmly sensible letter, but it left him more bewildered than ever. She begged him not to be persistent, and said her mind was made up and she could never marry him. She said he could see that i

uaded Dr. Benedict to see Mary. The

sion is that she meant to convey the idea that what Samuel Wiggett's d

ive you no reaso

and set the day and hour; but, as if Fate meant to make everything as bad as possible for David, Benedict came that very afternoon to carry him out to Griggs Township to minister to Mrs. Hinch, who had broken down and was near her end. It was not

rd him and he felt the changed attitude of the town in general, but until the news reached him through litt

e manse. Mary Ann, the old housekeeper, admitted her, leaving her sitting in the shaded parlor while she went to call David. He came immediately, raising one of the win

husia!" h

sgrace and perhaps of bodily harm or even worse. From her father she had heard of the threats; Mr. Fragg had heard the word passed among the loafers wh

Thusia had ended, he sat looki

ong and bad news increased the irritation. Riots and lawlessness always occur in the face of adverse reports; news of a defeat embitters

m a Copperhead!" sa

cause you are kind to the Hinches when no one else is. And they say-" she said, her voice falling a

nd," said David, rising. "I can tell th

nday sermon, setting himself right with his congregation. In the meanwhile he must show himself on the street; by word of mouth he could explain what the townspeople

t him at

ng his hand, "she is dead," and

Hin

l need you-you are the only man that can soften him, Davy. It is hard-we left the girl alo

Can I go!"

the doctor exclaimed. "Get in

t Hinch-he cam

get the cof

ried into

e threatening to tar and feather him if he shows his face in town ag

d from the buggy, the men cheered, for the tide had turned and the news was news of victory. As they cheered, old Hinch came out of the post office. He had in his right hand the hickory club he always carried and in the left a letter, doubled over a

from its pole. His fingers twitched as they grasped the letter in

eone shouted and an arm sh

his head. It caught in the edge of the flag above his head and he uttered a curse-not at the flag, not at his tormentors, but

stood his ground. He held a pistol in his hand and as the flag parted he leveled

cried, and the old man, a bullet hole i

Some members of the crowd stole away, but other men came running, from all directions and, standing beside the dead man, David told them why old Hinch had damned the war and why he hated it-not because he was a Copperhead but because one son and then another had been taken from life by it-one son killed by a stray Confederate bullet and the other shot while serving in the Union army. He made no plea for himself; it was enough that he told them that

ray for one who died in anger," and on the step of the post office and face to face with those who but a few minutes be

ysburg. It was never written down and we can never know David's words, but those who heard kne

owd, that filled the street. Mary half arose and turned her face toward David, but old Wiggett drove on, and, while

aced her hand on his arm and urged him to turn back, but cold common sense urged him to drive on. He did not want to be known as having seen any of the tragedy, for he

ffected her mode of thought, Mary was sincere, and she now wrote David she was sorry and asked him to come to her. It was too

be all alone no

David

a look

k," she asked, "or is sh

arry," David said promptly. "

her face reddened as it had on that first day at the wharf. The hand tha

andidate for her hand, if that

felt infinitely s

stammered. "I must not keep

vid said, and

he path toward the manse.

a!" he

eplied, and

o the gate and

it," 'Thu

ch. I think we should try

not 'Thusia's were trembling. She watched them as if fasci

"I love you and I have always loved

rt stoo

etter think it over," she managed to say

care for me

ardly be anything but awkward, but kisses and embraces are distinctly impossible across a dominie's manse gat

" Davi

r a dominie!" she said. "Oh,

ay most tales of real life end, but, however the minister's life may run, a minister's wife is apt to find the married years sufficie

erved as a bridesmaid for 'Thusia, and with 'Thusia planned the wedding gown. She almost took the place of a mother, and advised and worked to make 'Thusia's trousseau beautiful. She seemed to wish David's bri

ether at the Fraggs' and, although David was mentioned as seldom as ever a bridegroom was mentioned, all three felt they were laboring for him in making his br