The Inglises Or, How the Way Opened

Excerpt

Chapter One.

In the large and irregular township of Gourlay, there are two villages, Gourlay Centre and Gourlay Corner. The Reverend Mr Inglis lived in the largest and prettiest of the two, but he preached in both. He preached also in another part of the town, called the North Gore. A good many of the Gore people used to attend church in one or other of the two villages; but some of them would never have heard the Gospel preached from one year’s end to the other, if the minister had not gone to them. So, though the way was long and the roads rough at the best of seasons, Mr Inglis went often to hold service in the little red school-house there. It was not far on in November, but the night was as hard a night to be out in as though it were the depth of winter, Mrs Inglis thought, as the wind dashed the rain and sleet against the window out of which she and her son David were trying to look. They could see nothing, however, for the night was very dark. Even the village lights were but dimly visible through the storm, which grew thicker every moment; with less of rain and more of snow, and the moaning of the wind among the trees made it impossible for them to hear any other sound.

“I ought to have gone with him, mamma,” said the boy, at last.

“Perhaps so, dear. But papa thought it not best, as this is Frank’s last night here.”

“It is quite time he were at home, mamma, even though the roads are bad.”

“Yes; he must have been detained. We will not wait any longer. We will have prayers, and let the children go to bed; he will be very tired when he gets home.”

“How the wind blows! We could not hear the wagon even if he were quite near. Shall I go to the gate and wait?”

“No, dear, better not. Only be ready with the lantern when he comes.”

They stood waiting a little longer, and then David opened the door and looked out.

“It will be awful on Hardscrabble to-night, mamma,” said he, as he came back to her side.

“Yes,” said his mother, with a sigh, and then they were for a long time silent. She was thinking how the wind would find its way through the long-worn great coat of her husband, and how unfit he was to bear the bitter cold. David was thinking how the rain, that had been falling so heavily all the afternoon, must have gullied out the road down the north side of Hardscrabble hill, and hoping that old Don would prove himself sure-footed in the darkness.

“I wish I had gone with him,” said he, again.

“Let us go to the children,” said his mother.

The room in which the children were gathered was bright with fire-light—a picture of comfort in contrast with the dark and stormy night out upon which these two had been looking. The mother shivered a little as she drew near the fire.

“Sit here, mamma.”

“No, sit here; this is the best place.” The eagerness was like to grow to clamour.

“Hush! children,” said the mother; “it is time for prayers. We will not wait for papa, because he will be very tired and cold. No, Letty, you need not get the books, there has been enough reading for the little ones to-night....