Dominie Dean

o be more or less miserable sinners, but Seth Hardcome was, to outward view, absolutely irreproachable. He was in the shoe business on the main street. It is a nice, clean business and does not

shoes and slippers he sold gaiters-then quite the fashion-with prunell

economy. She had worn her old gaiters until they were hardly fit to wear. The elastic had rotted and hung in warped folds; the gaiters had been soled and resoled and the soles were again in holes; finally o

id; the same that I always get.

rapped them with his own hands. This was a Monday, and not until the next Sunday did 'Thusia have occasion to wear the gaiters. It was a day fo

ly died; I'm sure you never preached so long in

e next day David returned the gaiters to Mr. Hardcome. Mr. Hardcome's professional smile fled as David explained. He shook his head sorro

come, still shaking his

y was sorry, "I can't take them back. My one invariable rule; boots or shoes I someti

ong size? You remember my wife herself wrote the size

e cannot know. I am not likely to have made a mistake. Mr

n soiled, and he bought and paid for another pair, and nothing more might have come of it ha

come's store she left in something of a huff. She cared nothing whatever for Mr. Hardcome's rules, but she was angry to think he should suggest that she had written the wrong size on the slip of paper. Mr. Hardcome was cold and polit

d from hand to hand, until it reached Mrs. Hardcome. One, or it may have been two, Sundays later David, coming down from his pulpi

ard voice of a man who has been put up to something

tainly,"

Hardcome, "that your wife is circul

nishment. He could not imagin

y such slanderous remarks. I have the utmost respect and affection for you, but I tell you, Mr. Dean"-his voice shook with the anger he tried to control-"that woman-your wife-must apologize

had not the slightest idea of what Mr. Hardcome was speaking, but he felt, with the quick intuition of a sensitive m

t can all be satisfactorily explained. My people are waiting for me n

fore he reached the door his brow was troubled. Not a few seemed to yield their hands reluctantly; some had manifestly hurried away to avoid him. 'Thusia, alwa

knew at once that the trouble must be s

ever said anything like that. I have never said anything about him or the gaiters except to old Mrs. Brown. I did tell her I was

tled," said David. "We will tell

r husband, and old Sam Wiggett, Ned Long and James Cruser filed into the little parlor behind them. David met them cheerfully. He

to my wife,"

want it understood that I insisted that he ask for this apology. I am not the woman to have my husband called a-called untruthful without doing something about it. It is not for me to say th

her lap, looked up at David with wistful eage

that she has never said anything whatever in the least reflecti

cing at her husband as if to say: "So she is lying ab

to avoid all anger and quarreling. If we begin a dispute as to what Mrs. Dean said or did not say we cannot tell what unpleasantness may result.

apologize for what

. If he was angry he hid his anger;

apologize a thousand times than make trouble for him-but David was firm. Old Sam Wiggett, on the way home, told the Hardcomes they had been fools; that they had been o

to a bitter enemy, because Mrs. MacDorty told Mrs. Cruser that Mrs. Hardcome had said Mr. Cruser was trying to befriend both sides and was double-faced. Ned Long, looming as the leader of the Hardcome faction, told of a peculiar mortgage old James P. Wardop had-he said-extorted from Widow Wilmot, a

in its circling course, it invariably ended at 'Thusia's door. In a short time the affair had become a bitter factional quarrel. There were those who supported Mr. Hardcome and those who supporte

d. The old bachelor-while he never admitted it-adored 'Thusia and since he had been dubbed "Uncle" he considered her his daughter (a mixing of relationships) and nothing 'Thusia could do was wron

e manner in which old Wiggett had refused to help Mary. Together Ellen and her husband discussed the best method of administering the coup de grace. Hardcome, being neither an elder nor a trustee, doubted the advisability of forcing the matter immediately upon the attention of either body, for he was not yet sure enough of them. The

or he desired, above all else, to have Wiggett

made all this trouble, but I never sold her a

tend!" ask

es

e make you

es

l try to talk down any motion or

hem to me!"

ll remained the head of his household, although Mary and her husband were nominally in control, ate his supper in grim silence and nothing was said about David or the church affairs. Nor did Mary run down to the manse after supper as she had planned

'm afraid he's sick. Touch his cheek; see how

I won't have him in the house. I'll get Martin. I won't hav

and Derling had seemed so indifferent and lacking in affection, that she had never even considered that jealousy might have a part in his nature. Derling, she knew, conducted plenty of flirtations on his own side; some were rather notorious affairs; but Mary was conscious of never having

inie. Derling had, therefore, thrown himself into the ranks of the Hardcome adherents, and he had been one of those who ran afoul of old Dr. Benedict's keen tongue

ren, George," said Mary, looking up. "

ld throw him out," said Derling.

don't have the faith in him

sent downtown for medicine, heard at the druggist's that 'Thusia's child had diphtheria and that there was a fresh outbreak of the disease in town. He drove his horse home at a gallop and found Martin there, and Mary, white and panic-stricken, wringing her han

e David's resignation, had just called to warn David that if he wished to protect himself he must attend the meeting the ne

ed him quick enough. I wouldn't go if you got on your knees to me. You and your dog-faced father-in-law and your Ha

im, but the old doctor seemed able to wrest children from the clutches of the awful disease far oftener than other physicians. Derling felt that the angry old doctor had condemned his son to death. With the witlessness of a distracted man he tried to find Rose Hinch at h

enedict would be there, and if he was not there David would be, and in David-calm and faithful to all his people even when they turned against him-she placed her hope. In the dark she could not find the bel

and Benedict won't come. Can't you make

rew back

But Mary, he must go! Why-why-but he must go,

one mother pleading for another. No one but the three-Benedict and 'Thusia and Mary-will ever know w

although it was long before he was strong again Mary treasured him all the more. Rose Hinch, her

's office and David went early, not to be accused of cowardice. He left 'Thusia and Rose with the boy, drove old Benedict away, and went alone. He walked slowly, his head bowed and his hands clasped behind him, fo

berman. "So it's you, is i

meeting-" D

l be no meeting. Go home!" In the dark the heavy-jowled old man scowled at the slender young dominie. Suddenly he put his hand on David's shoulder.

irst cruel days of grief. There were but few bitter enough to wish to take up the fight again against the sorrowing 'Thusia. The quarrel was buried with little Davy, for when David entered the pulpit again, and the congregation waited to learn how their leaders would lead them, the po

d ha