CHAPTER XV
THE RESULT
"How many did you say, Craven, of those Glengarry men of yours?"Professor Gray was catechizing his nephew.
"Ten of them, sir, besides the minister's son, who is going to take thefull university course."
"And all of them bound for the ministry?"
"So they say. And judging by the way they take life, and the way, forinstance, they play shinny, I have a notion they will see it through."
"They come of a race that sees things through," answered the professor."And this is the result of this Zion Hill Academy I have been hearing somuch about?"
"Well, sir, they put in a good year's work, I must say."
"You might have done worse, sir. Indeed, you deserve great credit, sir."
"I? Not a bit. I simply showed them what to do and how to do it. Butthere's a woman up there that the world ought to know about. For love ofher--"
"Oh, the world!" snorted the professor. "The world, sir! The Lorddeliver us! It might do the world some good, I grant."
"It is for love of her these men are in for the ministry."
"You are wrong, sir. That is not their motive."
"No, perhaps it is not. It would be unfair to say so, but yet she--"
"I know, sir. I know, sir. Bless my soul, sir. I know her. I knew herbefore you were born. But--yes, yes--" the professor spoke as if tohimself--"for love of her men would attempt great things. You havethese names, Craven? Ah! Alexander Stewart, Donald Cameron, ThomasFinch--Finch, let me see--ah, yes, Finch. His mother died after a longillness. Yes, I remember. A very sad case, a very sad case, indeed."
"And yet not so sad, sir," put in Craven. "At any rate, it did notseem so at the time. That night it seemed anything but sad. It waswonderful."
The professor laid down his list and sat back in his chair.
"Go on, sir," he said, gazing curiously at Craven. "I have heard alittle about it. Let me see, it was the night of the great match, was itnot?"
"Did you know about that? Who told you about the match, sir?"
"I hear a great many things, and in curious ways. But go on, sir, goon."
Craven sat silent, and from the look in his eyes his thoughts were faraway.
"Well, sir, it's a thing I have never spoken about. It seems to me, if Imay say so, something quite too sacred to speak of lightly."
Again Craven paused, while the professor waited.
"It was Hughie sent me there. There was a jubilation supper atthe manse, you understand. Thomas Finch, the goal-keeper, youknow--magnificent fellow, too--was not at the supper. A messenger hadcome for him, saying that his mother had taken a bad turn. Hughie wasmuch disappointed, and they were all evidently anxious. I offered todrive over and inquire, and of course the minister's wife, though shehad been on the go all day long, must needs go with me. I can neverforget that night. I suppose you have noticed, sir, there are timeswhen one is more sensitive to impressions from one's surroundings thanothers. There are times with me, too, when I seem to have a very vitalkinship with nature. At any rate, during that drive nature seemed to getclose to me. The dark, still forest, the crisp air, the frost sparklingin the starlight on the trees--it all seemed to be part of me. I fear Iam not explaining myself."
Craven paused again, and his eyes began to glow. The professor stillwaited.
"When we reached the house we found them waiting for death. Theminister's wife went in, I waited in the kitchen. By and by Billy Jack,that's her eldest son, you know, came out. 'She is asking for you,' hesaid, and I went in. I had often seen her before, and I rather thinkshe liked me. You see, I had been able to help Thomas along pretty well,both in school and with his night work, and she was grateful for what Ihad done, absurdly grateful when one considers how little it was. I hadseen death before, and it had always been ghastly, but there was nothingghastly in death that night. The whole scene is before me now, I supposealways will be."
His dead, black eyes were beginning to show their deep, red fire.
The professor looked at him for a moment or two, and then said,"Proceed, if you please," and Craven drew a long breath, as if recallinghimself, and went on.
"The old man was there at one side, with his gray head down on thebed, his little girl kneeling beside him with her arm round his neck,opposite him the minister's wife, her face calm and steady, Billy Jackstanding at the foot of the bed--he and little Jessac the only ones inthe room who were weeping--and there at the head, Thomas, supportinghis mother, now and then moistening her lips and giving her sips ofstimulant, and so quick and steady, gentle as a woman, and smilingthrough it all. I could hardly believe it was the same big fellow whothree hours before had carried the ball through the Front defense. Itell you, sir, it was wonderful.
"There was no fuss or hysterical nonsense in that room. The mother laythere quite peaceful, pain all gone--and she had had enough of it inher day. She was quite a beautiful woman, too, in a way. Fine eyes,remarkable eyes, splendidly firm mouth, showing great nerve, I shouldsay. All her life, I understand, she lived for others, and even now herthought was not of herself. When I came in she opened her eyes. Theywere like stars, actually shining, and her smile was like the suddenbreaking of light through a cloud. She put out her hand for mine, andsaid--and I value these words, sir--'Mr. Craven, I give you a mither'sthanks and a mither's blessing for a' you have done for ma laddie.' Shewas Lowland Scotch, you know. My voice went all to pieces. I tried tosay it was nothing, but stuck. Thomas helped me out, and without a shakeor quiver in his voice, he answered for me.
"'Yes, indeed, mother, we'll not forget it.'
"'And perhaps you can help him a bit still. He will be needing it,' sheadded.
"I assure you, sir, that quiet steadiness of Thomas and herself bracedme up, and I was able to make my promise. And then she said, with a lookthat somehow reminded me of the deep, starlit night outside, throughwhich I had just come, 'And you, Mr. Craven, you will give your life toGod?'
"Again my voice failed me. It was so unexpected, and quite overwhelming.Once more Thomas answered for me.
"'Yes, mother, he will, sure,' and she seemed to take it as my promise,for she smiled again at me, and closed her eyes.
"I had read of triumphant death-bed scenes, and all that before, withouttaking much stock in them, but believe me, sir, that room was full ofglory. The very faces of those people, it seemed to me, were alight. Itmay be imagination, but even now, as I think of it, it seems real. Therewere no farewells, no wailing, and at the very last, not even tears.Thomas, who had nursed her for more than a year, still supported her,the smile on his face to the end. And the end"--Craven's voice grewunsteady--"it is difficult to speak of. The minister's wife repeated thewords about the house with many mansions, and those about the valleyof the shadow, and said a little prayer, and then we all waited for theend--for myself, I confess with considerable fear and anxiety. I hadno need to fear. After a long silence she sat up straight, and in herScotch tongue, she said, with a kind of amazed joy in her tone, 'Mafayther! Ma fayther! I am here.' Then she settled herself back in herson's arms, drew a deep breath, and was still. All through the nightand next day the glory lingered round me. I went about as in a strangeworld. I am afraid you will be thinking me foolish, sir."
The stern old professor was openly wiping his eyes. He seemed quiteunable to find his voice. At length he took up the list again, and beganto read it mechanically.
"What! What's this?" he said, suddenly, pointing to a name on the list.
"That, sir, is John Craven."
"Do you mean that you, too--"
"Yes, I mean it, if you think I am fit."
"Fit, Jack, my boy! None of us are fit. But what--how did this come?"The professor blew his nose like a trumpet.
"That I can hardly tell myself," said Craven, with a kind of wonderin his voice; "but at any rate it is the result of my Glengarry SchoolDays."
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