The only other marked feature of the landscape in the 13 way of artistic decoration was the corrugated base of an old stove, painted white, which served as a flower vase. From this grew a huge bunch of scarlet geraniums, staring defiantly, and seeming fairly to sizzle in the hot, vibrant atmosphere, which was as still as the calm of a moon-lit night.

As the man on the suit-case gazed about him at the general air of dilapidation and neglect characteristic of a country town on the down grade, and recalled the congenial life of the city which he had left, with all its busy competition, with all its absorbing activities, the companionship of the men he loved, and the restful, inspiring intimacy with a certain young woman, he felt, for the moment, a pang of homesickness. If the station were a sample of the village itself, then life in such a place must be deadening to every finer sensibility and ambition; it must throw a man back on himself and make him morbid.

The momentary depression was relieved by the station-master, who suddenly appeared at the door of the Ark and called out:

“Here comes Hepsey Burke. Maybe she’ll take you up; that’ll be a dum sight more comfortable than Lipkin’s ’bus.”

There was nothing to be seen but a cloud of dust, advancing with the rapidity of a whirlwind along the 14 highway, from which there gradually emerged a team and a “democrat,” containing a woman, a boy about fourteen, and a middle-aged man.

As the turn-out drew up, the man took the reins from Mrs. Burke, who jumped out of the wagon with remarkable agility for one of her size and years, and, nodding to the station-master, came on to the platform.

Hepsey Burke was rather stout; and the lines from her nose to the corners of her mouth, and the wisps of gray hair which had blown about her face, indicated that she had passed the meridian of life. At first glance there was nothing striking about her appearance; but there was a subtle expression about the mouth, a twinkle about the large gray eyes behind the glasses she wore, that indicated a sense of humor which had probably been a God-send to her. She was strong and well, and carried with her an air of indomitable conviction that things worked themselves out all right in the long run.

The boy was obviously her son, and in spite of his overalls and frayed straw hat, he was a handsome little chap. He looked at you shyly from under a crop of curly hair, with half closed eyes, giving you the impression that you were being “sized up” by a very discriminating individual; and when he smiled, 15 as he did frequently, he revealed a set of very white and perfect teeth. When he was silent, there was a little lifting of the inner brow which gave him a thoughtful look quite beyond his years; and you were sadly mistaken if you imagined that you could form a correct impression of Nicholas Burke at the first interview.

The man wore a sandy beard, but no mustache, and had a downcast, meekly submissive air, probably the depressing effect of many years of severe domestic discipline.

Mrs. Burke was evidently surprised to find no one there but the man on the suit-case; but as he rose and lifted his hat, she hesitated a moment, exclaiming:

“I beg pardon, but I was lookin’ for a parson who was to arrive on this train. You haven’t seen anything that looked like a parson, have you? You can generally spot ’em every time.”

The young man smiled.

“Well, no; I seem to be the only passenger who got off the train; and though I’m a clergyman, you don’t seem to find it easy to ‘spot’ me.”

Mrs. Burke, with a characteristic gesture, pulled her glasses forward with a jerk and settled them firmly back again on the bridge of her nose. She surveyed the speaker critically as she questioned: 16

“But you don’t seem to show the usual symptoms—collar buttoned behind, and all that.”

“I am sorry to disappoint you, Madam, but I never travel in clerical uniform. Can’t afford it.”

“Well, you’ve got more sense than most parsons, if I may say so. Maybe you’re the one I’m lookin’ for: Mr. Donald Maxwell.”

“That is my name, and I am sure you must be Mrs. Burke.”

“Sure thing!”—shaking his outstretched hand heartily. “Now you come right along with me, Mr. Maxwell, and get into the democrat and make yourself comfortable.” They walked round to the front of the station. “This, Mr. Maxwell, is Jonathan Jackson, the Junior Warden; and this is my son Nicholas, generally known as Nickey, except when I am about to spank him. Say, Jonathan, you just h’ist that trunk into the back of the wagon, and Nickey, you take the parson’s suit-case.”

The Junior Warden grinned good-naturedly as he shook hands with the new arrival. But Hepsey continued briskly: “Now, Jonathan, you get into the back seat with Nickey, and Mr. Maxwell, you sit with me on the front seat so that I can talk to you. Jonathan means well, but his talk’s limited to crops and symptoms, even if he is an old friend, my next door neighbor, and the Junior Warden.” 17

Jonathan obeyed orders; and, as he got into the wagon, winked at Maxwell and remarked:

“You see we have to take a back seat when Hepsey drives; and we have to hold on with both hands. She’s a pacer.”

“Don’t you let him frighten you, Mr. Maxwell,” Hepsey replied. “Jonathan would probably hold on with both hands if he lay flat on his back in a ten-acre lot. He’s just that fearless and enterprisin’.”

Then, starting the horses with a cluck, she turned to Maxwell and continued:

“I guess I didn’t tell you I was glad to see you; but I am. I got your note tellin’ me when you were comin’, but I didn’t get down to the station in time, as the men are killin’ hogs to-day, and until I get the in’ards off my hands, I haven’t time for anything.”

“I am sorry to have put you to the trouble of coming at all. I’m sure it’s very good of you.”

“No trouble; not the least. I generally look after the visitin’ parsons, and I’m quite used to it. You can get used to ’most anything.”

Maxwell laughed as he responded:

“You speak as if it weren’t always a pleasure, Mrs. Burke.”

“Well, I must admit that there are parsons and parsons. They are pretty much of a lottery, and it is 18 generally my luck to draw blanks. But don’t you worry about that; you don’t look a bit like a parson.”

“I think that’s a rather doubtful compliment.”

“Oh, well, you know what I mean. There are three kinds of people in the world; men, women, and parsons; and I like a parson who is a man first, and a parson afterwards; not one who is a parson first, and a man two weeks Tuesday come Michaelmas.”

Donald laughed: he felt sure he was going to make friends with this shrewd yet open-hearted member of his flock. The pace slackened as the road began a steep ascent. Mrs. Burke let the horses walk up the hill, the slackened reins held in one hand; in the other lolled the whip, which now and then she raised, tightening her grasp upon it as if for use, on second thoughts dropping it to idleness again and clucking to the horses instead. It was typical of her character—the means of chastisement held handy, but in reserve, and usually displaced by other methods of suasion.

As they turned down over the brow of the hill they drove rapidly, and as the splendid landscape of rolling country, tilled fields and pasture, stretching on to distant wooded mountains, spread out before him, Maxwell exclaimed enthusiastically, drawing a deep breath of the exhilarating air: