Rilla of Ingleside by Lucy Maud Montgomery (13 ebook reader .txt) đ
- Author: Lucy Maud Montgomery
- Performer: 1594624275
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Some people expected Mr. Pryor to refuse grumpilyâand that would have made enough scandal. But Mr. Pryor bounded briskly to his feet, unctuously said, âLet us pray,â and forthwith prayed. In a sonorous voice which penetrated to every corner of the crowded building Mr. Pryor poured forth a flood of fluent words, and was well on in his prayer before his dazed and horrified audience awakened to the fact that they were listening to a pacifist appeal of the rankest sort. Mr. Pryor had at least the courage of his convictions; or perhaps, as people afterwards said, he thought he was safe in a church and that it was an excellent chance to air certain opinions he dared not voice elsewhere, for fear of being mobbed. He prayed that the unholy war might ceaseâ that the deluded armies being driven to slaughter on the Western front might have their eyes opened to their iniquity and repent while yet there was timeâthat the poor young men present in khaki, who had been hounded into a path of murder and militarism, should yet be rescuedâ
Mr. Pryor had got this far without let or hindrance; and so paralysed were his hearers, and so deeply imbued with their born-and-bred conviction that no disturbance must ever be made in a church, no matter what the provocation, that it seemed likely that he would continue unchecked to the end. But one man at least in that audience was not hampered by inherited or acquired reverence for the sacred edifice. Norman Douglas was, as Susan had often vowed crisply, nothing more or less than a âpagan.â But he was a rampantly patriotic pagan, and when the significance of what Mr. Pryor was saying fully dawned on him, Norman Douglas suddenly went berserk. With a positive roar he bounded to his feet in his side pew, facing the audience, and shouted in tones of thunder:
âStopâstopâSTOP that abominable prayer! What an abominable prayer!â
Every head in the church flew up. A boy in khaki at the back gave a faint cheer. Mr. Meredith raised a deprecating hand, but Norman was past caring for anything like that. Eluding his wifeâs restraining grasp, he gave one mad spring over the front of the pew and caught the unfortunate Whiskers-on-the-moon by his coat collar. Mr. Pryor had not âstoppedâ when so bidden, but he stopped now, perforce, for Norman, his long red beard literally bristling with fury, was shaking him until his bones fairly rattled, and punctuating his shakes with a lurid assortment of abusive epithets.
âYou blatant beast!ââshakeââYou malignant carrionââshakeââYou pig-headed varmint!ââshakeââyou putrid pupââshakeââyou pestilential parasiteââshakeââyouâHunnish scumââshakeââyou indecent reptileâyouâyouââ Norman choked for a moment. Everybody believed that the next thing he would say, church or no church, would be something that would have to be spelt with asterisks; but at that moment Norman encountered his wifeâs eye and he fell back with a thud on Holy Writ. âYou whited sepulchre!â he bellowed, with a final shake, and cast Whiskers-on-the-moon from him with a vigour which impelled that unhappy pacifist to the very verge of the choir entrance door. Mr. Pryorâs once ruddy face was ashen. But he turned at bay. âIâll have the law on you for this,â he gasped.
âDoâdo,â roared Norman, making another rush. But Mr. Pryor was gone. He had no desire to fall a second time into the hands of an avenging militarist. Norman turned to the platform for one graceless, triumphant moment.
âDonât look so flabbergasted, parsons,â he boomed. âYou couldnât do itâ nobody would expect it of the clothâbut somebody had to do it. You know youâre glad I threw him outâhe couldnât be let go on yammering and yodelling and yawping sedition and treason. Sedition and treasonâ somebody had to deal with it. I was born for this hourâIâve had my innings in church at last. I can sit quiet for another sixty years now! Go ahead with your meeting, parsons. I reckon you wonât be troubled with any more pacifist prayers.â
But the spirit of devotion and reverence had fled. Both ministers realized it and realized that the only thing to do was to close the meeting quietly and let the excited people go. Mr. Meredith addressed a few earnest words to the boys in khakiâwhich probably saved Mr. Pryorâs windows from a second onslaughtâand Mr. Arnold pronounced an incongruous benediction, at least he felt it was incongruous, for he could not at once banish from his memory the sight of gigantic Norman Douglas shaking the fat, pompous little Whiskers-on-the-moon as a huge mastiff might shake an overgrown puppy. And he knew that the same picture was in everybodyâs mind. Altogether the union prayer-meeting could hardly be called an unqualified success. But it was remembered in Glen St. Mary when scores of orthodox and undisturbed assemblies were totally forgotten.
âYou will never, no, never, Mrs. Dr. dear, hear me call Norman Douglas a pagan again,â said Susan when she reached home. âIf Ellen Douglas is not a proud woman this night she should be.â
âNorman Douglas did a wholly indefensible thing,â said the doctor. âPryor should have been let severely alone until the meeting was over. Then later on, his own minister and session should deal with him. That would have been the proper procedure. Normanâs performance was utterly improper and scandalous and outrageous; but, by George,ââthe doctor threw back his head and chuckled, âby George, Anne-girl, it was satisfying.â
Ingleside 20th June 1916 âWe have been so busy, and day after day has brought such exciting news, good and bad, that I havenât had time and composure to write in my diary for weeks. I like to keep it up regularly, for father says a diary of the years of the war should be a very interesting thing to hand down to oneâs children. The trouble is, I like to write a few personal things in this blessed old book that might not be exactly what Iâd want my children to read. I feel that I shall be a far greater stickler for propriety in regard to them than I am for myself!
âThe first week in June was another dreadful one. The Austrians seemed just on the point of overrunning Italy: and then came the first awful news of the Battle of Jutland, which the Germans claimed as a great victory. Susan was the only one who carried on. âYou need never tell me that the Kaiser has defeated the British Navy,â she said, with a contemptuous sniff. âIt is all a German lie and that you may tie to.â And when a couple of days later we found out that she was right and that it had been a British victory instead of a British defeat, we had to put up with a great many âI told you soâs,â but we endured them very comfortably.
âIt took Kitchenerâs death to finish Susan. For the first time I saw her down and out. We all felt the shock of it but Susan plumbed the depths of despair. The news came at night by âphone but Susan wouldnât believe it until she saw the Enterprise headline the next day. She did not cry or faint or go into hysterics; but she forgot to put salt in the soup, and that is something Susan never did in my recollection. Mother and Miss Oliver and I cried but Susan looked at us in stony sarcasm and said, âThe Kaiser and his six sons are all alive and thriving. So the world is not left wholly desolate. Why cry, Mrs. Dr. dear?â Susan continued in this stony, hopeless condition for twenty-four hours, and then Cousin Sophia appeared and began to condole with her.
ââThis is terrible news, ainât it, Susan? We might as well prepare for the worst for it is bound to come. You said onceâand well do I remember the words, Susan Bakerâthat you had complete confidence in God and Kitchener. Ah well, Susan Baker, there is only God left now.â
âWhereat Cousin Sophia put her handkerchief to her eyes pathetically as if the world were indeed in terrible straits. As for Susan, Cousin Sophia was the salvation of her. She came to life with a jerk.
ââSophia Crawford, hold your peace!â she said sternly. âYou may be an idiot but you need not be an irreverent idiot. It is no more than decent to be weeping and wailing because the Almighty is the sole stay of the Allies now. As for Kitchener, his death is a great loss and I do not dispute it. But the outcome of this war does not depend on one manâs life and now that the Russians are coming on again you will soon see a change for the better.â
âSusan said this so energetically that she convinced herself and cheered up immediately. But Cousin Sophia shook her head.
ââAlbertâs wife wants to call the baby after Brusiloff,â she said, âbut I told her to wait and see what becomes of him first. Them Russians has such a habit of petering out.â
âThe Russians are doing splendidly, however, and they have saved Italy. But even when the daily news of their sweeping advance comes we donât feel like running up the flag as we used to do. As Gertrude says, Verdun has slain all exultation. We would all feel more like rejoicing if the victories were on the western front. âWhen will the British strike?â Gertrude sighed this morning. âWe have waited so longâso long.â
âOur greatest local event in recent weeks was the route march the county battalion made through the county before it left for overseas. They marched from Charlottetown to Lowbridge, then round the Harbour Head and through the Upper Glen and so down to the St. Mary station. Everybody turned out to see them, except old Aunt Fannie Clow, who is bedridden and Mr. Pryor, who hadnât been seen out even in church since the night of the Union Prayer Meeting the previous week.
âIt was wonderful and heartbreaking to see that battalion marching past. There were young men and middle-aged men in it. There was Laurie McAllister from over-harbour who is only sixteen but swore he was eighteen, so that he could enlist; and there was Angus Mackenzie, from the Upper Glen who is fifty-five if he is a day and swore he was forty-four. There were two South African veterans from Lowbridge, and the three eighteen-year-old Baxter triplets from Harbour Head. Everybody cheered as they went by, and they cheered Foster Booth, who is forty, walking side by side with his son Charley who is twenty. Charleyâs mother died when he was born, and when Charley enlisted Foster said heâd never yet let Charley go anywhere he darenât go himself, and he didnât mean to begin with the Flanders trenches. At the station Dog Monday nearly went out of his head. He tore about and sent messages to Jem by them all. Mr. Meredith read an address and Reta Crawford recited âThe Piper.â The soldiers cheered her like mad and cried âWeâll followâ weâll followâwe wonât break faith,â and I felt so proud to think that it was my dear brother who had written such a wonderful, heart-stirring thing. And then I looked at the khaki ranks and wondered if those tall fellows in uniform could be the boys Iâve laughed with and played with and danced with and teased all my life. Something seems to have touched them and set them apart. They have heard the Piperâs call.
âFred Arnold was in the battalion and I felt dreadfully about him, for I realized that it was because of me that he was going away with such a sorrowful expression. I couldnât help
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