In Search of Treasure

Mr. Fenwick was at work upon his sermon for the coming Sunday, but he laid down his pen and greeted the deacon cordially.

“I hear that your son hasn’t come home on the Osprey, Brother Fenwick,” the deacon began.

“No. It’s a disappointment to me. I have missed him sadly.”

“It seems to me it was a very risky thing to let him go off so far.”

“He was very anxious to go, and I thought it might be an education to him. I would like, myself, to see more of the great world.”

“Of course that’s one way to look at it, but there ain’t many boys that can be trusted so far away. I was amazed at his not coming home. What does the captain say?”

“He says that Guy made a good friend, and he is earning enough to pay his expenses.”

“Then you approve of his staying?”

“I hardly know what to think. Guy is a good boy, and I think he can be trusted.”

Deacon Crane coughed.

A cough is very significant sometimes. The deacon’s cough indicated incredulity of a very decided character.

“Mebbe, mebbe,” he said; “but that isn’t the way I would have managed with my boy.”

“What would have been your course?” asked Mr. Fenwick, mildly.

“I would have set Guy to work. He is old enough to be a help to you.”

“He is earning his living.”

“True, if he keeps his place. Suppose he gets discharged?”

“The captain says that is not likely.”

“Mebbe, mebbe; but I didn’t come here to discuss your son, parson. I have a weightier matter to speak of.”

“Go on, Brother Crane, I am ready to listen to you.”

CHAPTER XVIII

WILY DEACON CRANE

“It’s a delicate matter,” said Deacon Crane, coughing slightly. “I’d rather some other brother would have taken it off my hands, but duty is duty, and it isn’t right to shirk it.”

“True, Brother Crane,” said the minister, but he looked puzzled. He had no idea what the deacon was driving at.

“Do you think, parson, the parish is progressin’ as it should? Do you think the people are as much interested in religion as they’d ought to be?”

“Is there any parish of which that can be said, Brother Crane?”

“Well, perhaps not; but it seems to me there’s a good deal of spiritooal indifference in the church to-day.”

“More than there used to be?”

“That’s the point I am comin’ to. To my mind the congregation is gettin’ less and less spiritooally-minded.”

“I am very sorry if this is the case. I had not noticed it. The congregations keep up very well, and the people are attentive to the services.”

“Mebbe, mebbe; they’d appear to be so out of respect for you, parson; but as I move about the village, of course I hear what’s said.”

“Admitting that things are as you say, what remedy do you suggest?”

“That’s the p’int! That’s the p’int I was comin’ at; but I don’t hardly like to answer that question.”

“Why not?” asked the minister, innocently.

“Because it might hurt your feelin’s, parson.”

“I will not allow my feelings to stand in the way, so be kind enough to answer the question frankly and candidly.”

“Then, if I must say it,” replied the deacon, watching under his shaggy eyebrows to see what effect his words would have upon Mr. Fenwick, “if I must say it, some of the people are sayin’ it might be well for the parish to have a younger minister!”

Mr. Fenwick started as if he had been struck. He was utterly unprepared for this communication. He had lived among his people for twenty years, and no thought of separation had come to him.

He turned pale, and endeavored to stifle his emotion.

“I—I was not prepared for this, Deacon Crane,” he said. “Are the people really getting tired of me?” he added, with a tremor in his voice.

“Of course there are some of us that stand by you, parson; for instance, myself and Mrs. Crane. But I regret to say that some of the younger people are gettin’ uneasy, and think that a change might be for the benefit of the parish.”

“Will you name to me some of the disaffected ones, Brother Crane?”

“No, I’d rather not. You see, they all respect you. You see, you’re gettin’ into years, parson.”

“I am fifty-one.”

“True, that isn’t very old. I’m a year or two older myself.” (The deacon was fifty-nine.) “But then I am not a preacher. People don’t seem to consider age an objection in a deacon. If they did, I hope I should be willin’ to sacrifice myself on the altar of dooty.”

Mr. Fenwick rose from his chair and began to pace up and down the study. He was very much agitated, and heart-sore at the thought that the people who were so near to him should wish him to go.

“How long have you seen signs of disaffection, Deacon Crane?” he asked, pausing in his walk.

“Well, for about two years, I reckon, Mr. Fenwick.”

“And yet the people seem to come to church in as large numbers as usual.”

“It is their sense of dooty, parson. They feel that they ought to come.”

“That may be. It is certainly very commendable. I only mention it to let you understand why I have not noticed this feeling.”