Rod of the Lone Patrol Part 2

Parson Dan was absent for about an hour, and it was dark when he returned to the rectory. He looked disappointed.

"Brindle is gone," was the news he imparted to his wife. "I found where the fence was broken down. That strange cow must have done it, for I never knew Brindle to do such a thing. I wonder how that cow got in there, anyway. It is a complete mystery to me. I tried to follow the cows through the woods, but it got so dark that I was forced to give up the search. I must be off early in the morning or there will be no milk for the wee lad's breakfast."

"And none for our coffee, Daniel," was his wife's reminder. "Milk will be a very poor subst.i.tute for cream, but it will be better than nothing."

"That's quite true, Martha. It's been a long time since we've been without milk or cream in the house. But we can stand it better than the baby. Poor little chap, he must not starve, even if we have to borrow some from our neighbours. I hope Rodney has not tired you too much to-day, dear. It has been years since you had the care of a baby."

"It has been a great joy, Daniel, to have the laddie with me. He slept several hours, and when he woke he was so good and full of fun. At times I imagined he was Alec playing on the floor with his blocks. He was very sweet when I put him to bed to-night. He never misses his mother. How soon a baby forgets."

"But I venture to say that his mother hasn't forgotten him," and the parson's face grew serious as he recalled that sob of the night before.

"I have been thinking of her all through the day, and wondering who she is, and why she left her baby at our door."

"And so have I, Daniel. I had the idea that she would return, and several times I started at the least noise, expecting to see her at the door."

"I do not wish to deprive the mother of her baby," the parson thoughtfully mused, "but how I should like to keep him! He seems to belong to us. In fact, he has made himself perfectly at home already."

Parson Dan was astir unusually early the next morning. He stood before the rectory looking up and down the road, uncertain which course to take in search of the missing Brindle.

"Let me see," he considered, "that fence is down on the upper side, and most likely those cows have made their way up the road. I guess I had better hunt there first."

As he stood there his eyes roamed over the scene before him. The rectory was situated upon a gentle elevation, surrounded by tall, graceful elms, and large branching maples. Below the road was the parish church, standing where it had stood for almost one hundred years, amid its setting of elms, maples, and oaks. Nearby was the cemetery, where the numerous shafts of marble and granite could be plainly seen from the road. To the right and left were pretty cottages, for the most part closed, as they belonged to people from the city, who, like the swallows, having spent their summer in this beautiful spot, had flitted at the approach of winter. Beyond stretched the St. John River, one of the finest sheets of water in the province, or even in Eastern Canada. This morning it appeared like a magic mirror, with not a breath of wind ruffling its placid surface.

Parson Dan's heart filled with pride and peace as he gazed upon the entrancing scene. Seldom had it looked so beautiful, and he believed that the early morning hour had much to do with its attractiveness.

"Glorious, glorious!" he murmured, "and so few abroad to see it. How the spirit of peace is brooding over river and land! Marvellous are Thy works, O Lord, and Thy mercies are renewed every morning."

He was aroused from his meditation by the sound of foot-steps upon the road. Glancing quickly around, he saw a tall, powerfully-built man approaching, carrying in his right hand a large stick, which he brought down upon the ground with a resounding thump. His clothes were rough; a heavy pair of boots encased his feet, while an old soft felt hat covered a head crowned with a wealth of iron-grey hair. He seemed like a veritable patriarch of ancient Hebrew days, and this likeness was intensified by his aquiline nose, keen eagle-like eyes, and a long beard sweeping his expansive chest. A smile lightened his face as he approached.

"Good mornin', parson," was his cheery greeting. "Ye're abroad early."

"Oh, good morning, captain," was the hearty reply. "We seem to be the only persons astir, eh?"

"More's the pity, parson. Don't see the like of that every day," and the captain waved his stick through the air. "Fine sight, that."

"It certainly is," the clergyman a.s.sented, "and how few are abroad to see it. But say, captain, you haven't seen anything of my cow, have you?"

"Ho, ho, that's a sudden jump, isn't it, parson?"

"A sudden what?"

"A sudden jump from the sublime to the ridiculous; from a scene like that to a cow."

"Not when you have no milk or cream, captain. Brindle has broken out of the pasture, and I have no idea where she can be."

"Did ye pray this mornin' that ye might find her, parson?"

"No, I can't say that I did," was the somewhat reluctant reply, for Parson Dan was well accustomed to Captain Josh's thrusts.

"Ah, that's too bad. The missionary said night before last that we must pray if we expect to receive, didn't he?"

"Yes, captain, he did."

"And he told us more'n that, parson. He said that we couldn't expect to receive unless we gave."

"Yes, he said that also."

"And by jingo, he was right, too," and the captain brought his stick down upon the road with a bang. "I've tried it, and it has turned out just as the missionary said it would."

"You have!" and the clergyman looked his astonishment. "I am so glad, captain, to know that you have come to view things in a different light. I was pleased to see you at the missionary meeting, and I am so thankful that you were benefited by what you heard. Won't you tell me how you proved Mr. Dicer's words to be true?"

"Would ye like to know, parson?" and a sly twinkle shone in the captain's eyes as he asked the question.

"Certainly. Go ahead."

"And ye won't feel hurt?"

"Feel hurt! Why should I?"

"Well, ye see, it concerns yer cow, and no matter how a man might feel about the welfare of others, when it comes to himself and his own personal property, it makes a great difference."

"I do not understand your meaning, captain," and the clergyman's voice had a note of sharpness. "What has the missionary meeting to do with my cow?"

"Considerable, parson, considerable. When I went home from that meetin', sez I to my wife, 'Betsey, I have learned a new wrinkle to-night, which may be of much use to us.' She asked me what I meant, so I up and told her what the missionary had said about givin' and receivin'. He laid it down very plain that unless a man gave to the Lord's work, he couldn't expect to prosper. Now, didn't he?"

"That's what he said," and the clergyman nodded his a.s.sent.

"Well, then, sez I to Betsey, 'Betsey, we've never prospered, because we've never given anything.'

"'But what have we to give?' sez she.

"'Nothin' much,' sez I, 'except our old cow Bess.'

"'Oh, we can't give her,' sez she. 'We'll have no milk if we do.'

"'But we'll get more in return,' sez I. 'The missionary said so, and I want to prove his words.' Well, the long and short of it is, that I took Bess early the next mornin' and turned her into your pasture afore you were up. Betsey was lookin' pretty glum when I got back home, but I told her to cheer up, fer the Lord would prosper us as we had given Him our cow."

"Captain Josh Britt!" the parson exclaimed. "I am astonished at you!

How could you think of doing such a thing?"

"Why, what's wrong with that?" and the captain tried to look surprised.

"Isn't it scriptural? I thought by givin' Bess to you, I was givin'

her to the Church, and in that way she could be used fer the Lord's work."

"Oh, I see," and the clergyman stroked his chin in a thoughtful manner.

"Yes, and I tell ye it succeeded like a charm," the captain continued.

"I gave up Bess, and, lo and behold, she came back last sight bringin'

another cow with her."