Of the many edifices that have been built and dedicated to the worship of God there are a few that have borne no little interest to the exploring mind. Of these few, the interest taken in the ones classed as "meeting-houses," and of the type that Ashville has produced, the comment and study has not been the least. Here in the hills of a region remote from thriving, progressive humanity, sturdy men and loyal women built their little home of worship. The men carried from earlier surroundings only mental pictures of the churches they had known. Harassed by their inexperienced labor and crude tools, they had arrived at a result very slow in coming, and an irregular, inartistic structure was their reward at the happy end. Yet it was the counterpart of many another pioneer "meeting-house" beautiful to the builders. Differing perhaps only in wild surroundings and the characters who constructed it piecemeal, leaving their sturdy, earnest, individual purposes marked upon its every part, making the whole peculiar to them.
On Sunday morning, as Frank Harvey approached its ground, so sanctified by the many years of devotion and worship, the sun seemed to embrace and fill its beautiful homeliness with a warmth of affection. From the hallowed wall there shone back a partial response through clinging vines, resplendent in the bright coloring of Indian summer. As he came closer the rapid progress of autumn's devastating influence was apparent in the thinness of the remaining leaves. He felt rather than reasoned the approach of colder days, when that ruddy coloring would have gone with the time that had made it glorious, and only a naked ugliness would be left in its stead until a more monotonous mantle of sparkling snow came to cover the remaining vines.
He arrived early, as Kent had asked him to do—earlier than he at first realized—but the triumphant splendor that the light and color contained created a delightful sensation of fresh enjoyment, and in the pleasure of the hour he did not feel impatient. Even the quiet, unobtrusive arrival of the sexton, a humble man, did not distract him. It was not until the decrepit old men and women—those who find a peculiar satisfaction in being the first to arrive and the last to leave their worship—it was not until these faithful souls came to divert his mind that he regained an active interest in people and left off dreaming. He entered and slipped into one of the seats nearest the door, watching the old people as they exchanged bits of gossip, laughing in a quiet way at their own humor.
It was not long until Kent arrived. Coming at once to Harvey, he greeted him with the cheerfulness that seemed to pervade the atmosphere, and, introducing him to a few of the bystanders, drew him away as soon as he had the opportunity, and asked:
"Get back to the tavern all right last night?"
"Oh! yes," Harvey replied. "Had no trouble at all."
"That's good. Haven't seen Miss Virgie and her father yet this morning, have you?"
"No. I guess they have not arrived."
"I expect you to share their pew with them. Ah, here they are!" he added, as George Brandt and Virgie came out of the group near the door, and Virgie, discovering them, came to where they were standing.
"I was just about to take a little liberty," said Kent, smiling.
"And," supplemented Virgie, her face radiant with the charm of lovely appreciation in the delightful morning.
"And I invited Mr. Harvey to share your pew with you and your father."
"Indeed he may. You shall go nowhere else," she added, as Harvey was about to interpose some objection.
"Then I will leave him to your care," Kent finished, and, excusing himself, left to mingle with his congregation that he might talk with them a few moments before the services.
Virgie had little chance to converse with Harvey, as there were so many demands upon her, and when the little organ gave out its first harmonious chords, as a warning of the beginning of service, she had said scarcely anything to him—to his disappointment.
"We had better be seated now," she remarked, and leading the way up the centre aisle she entered and took a seat beside her father, Harvey occupying the one left vacant on his opposite side.
"You all know, I believe," the parson said, after concluding a list of other announcements, and taking a stand at one end of the platform to mark the difference in his plain, personal talk from the sermon that was to follow. "You all know, I believe, the present state of our finances, and with your knowledge of the necessities before us in the coming winter you can understand how much we are in need of assistance. It is not my wish to make upon you demands that would be disagreeable, or, on the other hand, suggest any plans that will but cover our needs in a small and unsatisfactory way. With the aid of one of our congregation a plan has been formed (here many of the knowing ones looked toward Virgie) that will give every one of us a chance to help just a little, and I think we will each find great satisfaction in giving that help."
Then he proceeded to unfold the scheme for the next day in its entirety, stating at the end that "Miss Brandt would give every one who might take part full information about the details," and adding, "I am sure that there are none who will fail to take interest."
There were some, but they were only among the older people, who already knew, and they continued looking toward the front in unmoved consciousness. To those though to whom the idea came for the first time the novelty and possibilities impressed with a quick delight, and an excited murmur passed among them as they discussed its phases in variously audible whispers, smiles and pleased expressions indicating popular approval.
Harvey glanced cautiously around over those whom he could see, and became greatly amused at their enthusiastic reception of it. As the sermon commenced the whispering subsided, and all eyes seemed turned on Virgie. Frank looked past her father, who sat studiously attentive to all that the parson was saying, and he thought at first that she was serenely unconscious of her position as she glued her eyes on Kent, but there was the excitement in her eyes that indicated plainly her feelings.
With the services ended she at once became the centre of a questioning group. Mildly smiling on the younger boys, who were exceedingly boisterous, she answered all the questions she could when able to make herself understood, and in the end each one of that small assemblage was filled with a determination to do his best, swayed by the excitement of the others, and electrified by her enthusiasm.
The following morning Harvey started early and drove out to Brandt's. He felt the hour an unusual one, and had many misgivings as to whether he had best not wait until later; but, as he drove through the town and along the road, he met so many merry parties already busy with their chosen work, that he was soon convinced that the day is old or young at seven in the morning as habit has made it for us.
He found Virgie finished with her home duties and about to leave.
"We cannot let you remain here all day alone," she said, "and, besides, you have promised to help us."
"But how can I help any? I know nothing about the art of nut gathering," he replied dubiously.
"There is no need for you to. If you really care to help there will be plenty for you to do," she said, starting off through the woods opposite the house, and Frank followed meekly, for he had not the slightest idea as to where he was going or what would be expected of him.
The route she had taken led, by way of a narrow path, through the thick underbrush and massive trees that skirted the road, and as they moved along the fallen leaves rustled harshly as they swirled about their feet. When they came out into a narrow strip of clearing he took up a place beside her and resumed the broken conversation.
"If you are going to town why could not I have taken you there in the wagon?"
"There are too many parties already out that I wish to see. I cannot leave them to work all alone," she replied, and, disregarding his proffered aid, she crossed rapidly a small stream, stepping quickly from stone to stone with a deftness that came of experience. Then up a gentle slope she passed into another path so narrow that the protruding briar bushes forced him back to the single file again until they came upon a group of boys so intent in their work that Virgie's approach was unnoticed.
" I can't shake the darned things down," said one of them, aggravated by his fruitless efforts.
"Where are the darned things, Jimmie?" Virgie asked quietly, as she looked up into the tree.
"Well, I can't get 'em loose anyhow," he protested, abashed at her perfect mimicry.
And, without further reference to his outburst, she asked, "Have you been very lucky?"
"'Bout three bushel," replied the erring Jimmie, and, regaining his interest, continued, "Griffin kids an' Tim Sanders 's on'y got less'n two."
"Well, you are doing well," Virgie laughed encouragingly, and started on.
Another walk of some ten minutes brought them to a party of both young men and women. Harvey was soon aware that the ungracious reception that they gave him and Virgie was entirely due to his own strangeness to these healthy, simple and pleasure-loving lassies and their swain, who had made use of the occasion for a general outing. Still the young people accepted the situation good-naturedly, and when asked as to their success rather shame-facedly confessed that they "had not commenced yet," though the cause for such tardiness was evident in their enjoyment of everything else but the labor portion. So Virgie only cautioned them against losing their forfeits, and as she and Harvey left, one of the most bold among the young men cried after them that she might expect a record by their efforts before the day was over.
" Why do they all seem so fond of you?" Harvey asked, and, not trusting the reply to her, at once answered his own question. "It must be because you understand them so thoroughly, is it not?"
"Is it not natural that I should understand them?" she answered evasively. "Have I not been brought up among them? Am I not one of them?"
"Your having been raised among or with them does not necessarily make you one of them, and though you accept their interests as your interests, and their happiness and sorrows as your own, still I believe that you will grow out of an interest in their simple ways—if not just now—perhaps when you are older."
"Oh! I know I never shall," she replied positively. "They are too dear to me."
"Granting that they may be dear to you, is it not because you have only come to understand them, and in using that knowledge sway them to actions that are of your originating and not their own? Is it not the controlling their lives in a large measure that fascinates you?"
"But they do these things themselves—in their own way. It is only for me to suggest, now and then, a small remedy. I assure you that their small demands are in no way tiresome."
"I am afraid that you do not understand my meaning," Frank said earnestly. "You are wielding an influence that is more far-reaching than you seem to appreciate, but in time I think that you will know the scope of that influence, and when you do you cannot enjoy it long without the added knowledge of the limitations. Then you will have grown to a fuller appreciation of your capabilities. The smallness of this field of usefulness will surprise even yourself, and you will be inclined to cast about for other worlds to conquer."
"You would have me become a very ambitious person," she smiled, following his line of thought as best she could, but wondering at his conception of her. In her own mind she had never dreamed of any other future. Her life would mature and end just where it now commenced to show results, and his reasoning had opened new possibilities far beyond her immediate acceptance. He was giving to her, ambitions that were beyond her imagining or filling in of details, just at the present at least, though she was impressed by his introducing the thought of greater things into her very busy life.
"You are ambitious now. I would only have you become more ambitious, for I feel that your capabilities are in a measure wasted upon these people."
"Oh! do not say that. You make me feel that my interest in them is lost in their selfishness. They are not selfish, and I will not have you think they are," she objected, in defense of her friends.
"Perhaps they are not, but what do you receive for your efforts?"
"Their gratitude; and, even if I did not, there is the satisfaction of having done the good one has set oneself to do."
"I suppose it is all we have in any case," he said, half convinced. "But I only thought you might have a larger field for your usefulness," he added, as they emerged from the woods and entered the edge of the town, each busy with their own reflections.
They went straight to the parsonage, where Harvey sank into the first chair he could find. The long and uneven walk had tired him considerably. Virgie, accustomed to continually running about, was not in the least fatigued, and remained standing as she talked to the elder "sisters" who were assembled, as is their wont at the least provocation where officiousness has an opportunity.
The party was not a very animated one. Frank likened it to the quietness that pervades a polling place on voting day, where everything orderly and almost without interest speaks of a suppressed force that only awaits the coming in of returns to burst into noisy enthusiasm. As the day wore on, with a little flurry of excitement now and then occasioned by the returns from some not over-ambitious individual who had done just what he or she was asked to do—no more, no less—he wondered if it would not yet fizzle out to an uninteresting end, with nothing to relieve its tameness but these spasmodic arrivals. He feared the result for Virgie's sake. He knew her disappointment would be keen, and he found himself blaming the people. "A stupid lot at best," he reasoned. "She was mistaken to expect them to rise above a mediocre appreciation of her ambitions." But he allowed his sympathy for Virgie to carry him beyond a fair decision, and when the afternoon had reached almost twilight he grew to have a better feeling toward her people. Wagons, buggies and carts kept driving up in bewildering variety, the merry occupants dumping the results of their day's labor upon the lawn. In the rush there were none who received a correct credit for his amount, as boxes and baskets, and sacks upon sacks, were strewn over the ground, each merry worker adding his contribution with alacrity, causing such confusion that Harvey, whom Virgie had pressed into service as a kind of record-keeper, finally gave up the situation as a helpless one, and nodded or laughed his acknowledgment to each as he could get their attention.
When darkness came on the excitement grew to fever heat. Someone suggested a "bon-fire," and it was taken up with wild shouts by the boys and younger men. Great heaps of crisp, dry leaves were gathered and set ablaze until the whole neighborhood was lighted by their ruddy glow. The children danced about in broken circles, likening themselves to ferocious Indians, shouting and singing themselves hoarse, while parents looked on smiling and laughing their sympathy, the fun continuing until the last belated party had arrived.
Then "the parson" was made to mount a box and speak to them. Thanking them for the interest they had taken, he gracefully credited Virgie for originating it. When he had finished, those who could get to her hugged or kissed her, and bidding her good-night, reluctantly dispersed to their homes.
When all had gone but Virgie, George Brandt and Harvey, Kent invited them in to supper—an invitation each refused.
"Are you ready, dear?" asked Brandt.
"Quite ready, father," she replied, as she surveyed the great, dark pile at the foot of the yard, where the smouldering leaves cast fantastic shadows as they started into little blazes of light and burned to ashes in the early evening darkness.
"Will we see you tomorrow?" she asked of Harvey.
"I will call in as I leave, for I am going away to-morrow," he answered half sadly.
"And not wait for Ben?" she asked, surprised.
"No. I do not feel that I can waste any more time on him."
"What do you think of my people now?" she asked, her face beaming with the satisfaction of his defeat.
"I am only convinced the more of what I said. That you are capable of greater things," and as she was driven away she was again perplexed by his understanding of herself.