A minister's probation

CHAPTER 1. The Baptism

It was the Monday following the observance of the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper, commonly called “communion Sabbath,” in a little church on the bank of Pigeon Creek, a small stream which winds its way among the hills and valleys of Western Pennsylvania. The parishioners of that Presbyterian congregation were a sturdy yoemanry of Scotch-Irish descent, and, walking in the ways of their fathers, they adhered to a Scripture psalmody, and practiced close communion.

The services began on Friday, which was a day of fasting and prayer, preparatory to the partaking of the bread and wine, emblems of the broken body and shed blood of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. As was usual upon such occasions, the pastor was assisted by a ministerial brother, who fed a flock in a neighboring district, a few miles distant. The assistant did the most of the preaching, and the people of that rural community were glad of an opportunity for “occasional hearing,” though the visiting clergyman belonged to their own household of faith, and they did not consider him as able or as eloquent as their own

A minister’s probation.

beloved pastor. Ministers were human in 1802, and sometimes took advantage of being away from home, to display the wonderful depths of their learning.

Such was the case on that Monday. Mr. Lindsey preached a powerful discourse from the text: “And I stood upon the sand of the sea, and saw a beast rise up out of the sea, having seven heads and ten horns, and upon his horns ten crowns, and upon his heads the name of blasphemy.” The people listened intently, and wondered at the knowledge of the speaker, as he unfolded the sublime mysteries of the beast and seven heads and ten horns and ten crowns.

At the close of the sermon the pastor rose in the pulpit and said: “Parents will present their children for baptism.” A couple seated in the right-hand tier of seats rose promptly, and walked reverently to the front; another couple seated in the left-hand tier, after a moment’s hesitation, followed them. The man of God propounded the usual questions, which were appropriately answered by the parents, who took upon themselves solemn vows to bring up their little ones in the nurture and admonition of the Lord. With a cup of sparkling water from a spring, which opened into the creek near by, and which had decided the location of the church, the minister descended the steps, laid his dripping hand upon the head of the first baby, and said, “ Paul, I baptize thee in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of

THE BAPTISM.

the Holy Ghost, one God;” passing to the next, “ Phebe, I baptize thee in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, one God. Amen.”

Paul clenched his little fist, and sent up a cry, which showed his combative disposition, and gave warning that he would not be imposed upon with impunity; Phebe smiled as the water rolled down her cheeks, and pulled the preacher’s whiskers while he administered the sacred rite. The congregation united in singing:

“All people that on earth do dwell,

Sing to the Lord with cheerful voice;

Him serve with mirth, his praise forthtell,

Come ye before him and rejoice.”

After the singing of the Psalm the benediction was pronounced, and the people slowly left the church. It was Monday, and they embraced the opportunity for social chats, free from the prickings of conscience for a violation of the Sabbath.

Mrs. Martin was standing under the protecting boughs of a large tree, when she was joined by Mrs. Fergus, who exclaimed: “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to get Paul baptized? We intended to wait until the next communion for Phebe, but when I saw you going up I gave him the wink, and we went too.”

“ We didn’t make up our minds until last night, but he’s getting so big it ought to be attended to; he’s over a year old, but something has always happened to prevent it. He was sick the comlO A MINISTER'S PROBATION.

munion before the last, and I was sick the last, and it had to be put off. I’m real glad you got Phebe baptized, for I hated to go up alone. Ain’t she a wee mite of a thing?”

‘‘ She’s only four months old; I think she’s large for her age. I was ashamed of her dress. She wore her best yesterday. If I had thought of getting her baptized, I would have saved it for to-day.”

“ Her dress is good enough, plenty good enough for anybody’s child, anyway; you shouldn’t think of her clothes,” added Mrs. Martin laughingly.

“ O no, of course not; you never think of Paul’s,” replied Mrs. Fergus in the same vein; and then said seriously, “ I know we ought not to think about clothes as much as we do. Finery is apt to take the mind off more important things, but I am most sorry I got Phebe baptized in that old dress.”

“ If she never has anything worse than that to hurt her, she’ll get through the world all right,” remarked Mrs. Allen, who was the social autocrat of the neighborhood, and the troubled mother was comforted.

“Have you made your apple butter yet?” inquired Mrs. Beck, whose mind generally ran upon domestic matters.

“ Yes-, I made it the first of last week, and it is real nice, if I do say it myself,” replied Mrs. Martin.

“ I have not made mine yet. I have been very busy, and the children are not well, and I could not get around to it,” said Mrs. Fergus.

THE BAPTISM.

II

Mrs. Allen had made a little for present use, but not her winter’s supply.

While the women were talking about their preserving and apple butter making, the men were discussing their horses and sheep, their crops, their present and their future prospects of harvests and plenty. They consulted one another about a teacher for the coming winter’s term of school, and agreed upon a day to meet and repair the schoolhouse, that it might be in readiness when a master should be selected to wield the scepter over the brains and backs of the fortunate urchins who should occupy the rude benches.

The married women formed one group, and the married men another. The young women did not gather themselves into a circle of youth and beauty. They scattered all over the forest in which the church was built, as if in search of some rare wild flower. It was very strange, away out there in the country, where the people had such limited opportunities for learning the ways of the world, but near every maiden hovered a young man. If some mischief-loving boy, who knew entirely too much for his age, broke in upon a pleasant tete-atete, he was immediately sent upon some imaginary errand which took him out of the way for a while at least.

The children had a good time. They played games under the very eaves of the church. Boys and girls jostled each other as if they were made of common clay.

At last some energetic farmer hunted up his wife and exclaimed: “ Maria, ain’t you never going to be ready to start home ? ”

“ I’m ready whenever you be,” was the submissive reply of the woman, who had been early taught the meaning of the vows which she had taken upon herself to “love, honor, and obey.” Others followed the example, and soon the entire congregation was homeward bound. Those who lived near walked, while some were on horseback. Others were in the farm wagon, which often gave a “lift” to the less fortunate who had no such conveyance. Carriages were unknown in those days in that community, but somehow everybody except the sick managed to get to church. Aunt Hannah Allen, who resided with her brother, was afflicted with the rheumatism to such an extent that she was obliged to remain at home. She was sitting in her old armchair on the porch when the family returned, trying to be patient under her afflictions, and also trying to realize that it w'as better for her to be there than in the courts of the sanctuary, which she loved.

“ How did you get along? ” inquired her sisterin-law as she reached the steps.

“ O, all right, a little lonesome. Who was baptized to-day ? ”

Mrs. Allen answered as she vanished within the door: “Nobody but Paul Martin and Phebe Fergus.”

CHAPTER 11.

The First School.

“Are you going to start Phebe to school next week?’’ inquired Mr. Beck, who was a member of the committee that had been appointed at a school meeting to gather up the children, that they might have a good school.

“ No, she is too small, she is only five years old; she cannot go.”

“What is there to hinder her from going? I am around seeing what can be done. The master is pretty independent, and wants a dollar a day. It is pretty high wages, but he is a good schoolmaster, and I suppose he can get it in other places, and as there is not many of us, we will have to put our hands to the plow if we raise it. Phebe is a good girl and will not need much correction, and being she is all you have to send since James died, you ought to feel it your duty to help along and send her.”

“ That is the trouble; she has no older brother or sister to go with her and take care of her; she cannot go alone, that is certain.”

“ She will not have to. Jane Martin goes past here, and she will think nothing of stopping for her. Paul is going, and he is about Phebe’s age. Shall I put her name down?”

“ I don’t know. Paul is older than Phebe, and he is stronger. What do you say? ” and Mrs. Fergus glanced toward her husband.

“ O, let her go; it will not cost much, and she will be safe enough. I will speak to the master and tell him not to be too hard on her. Weller makes a good master, and we must support him.”

Mr. Beck wrote the name, Phebe Fergus, and, after talking a few minutes about the hard times and the news of the day, he hurried on to swell the list of scholars for the school, which was to begin the next Monday, and was to be presided over by Abraham Weller, the ablest master in all the community, if the requisite one dollar a day and a reasonable number of pupils could be secured. The teacher did not want to be paid for services that were not rendered, hence it was as important to have the children in attendance as it was to provide the money for the salary. The opening day dawned auspiciously. The sun shone brightly and the birds sang sweetly as they flew among the trees and talked to each other in bird language of., all those wonderful children, who came uninvited so suddenly into their midst. They were so thankful to the God of the birds that it was in autumn, and their birdlings were all out of their nests, that neither their eggs nor their children were in danger at the hands of the rude, bad boys, who climbed the trees and stole the empty, deserted homes, where the little ones had been sheltered by motherly wings until able to fly and care for

THE FIRST SCHOOL.

themselves. The master appeared early upon the scene, armed with a Bible, an arithmetic, a bundle of goose quills, a ruler, and a strap. The advanced pupils were equipped with an arithmetic, a copybook, and a Bible, to be used as a text-book in reading. Once in a while an ambitious boy aspired to the study of grammar. Such were regarded with awe, and looked up to with a reverence just a degree less than that given to the master himself. The intermediate grade read in the Testament, and studied the spelling book and the first part of the arithmetic. Some of the primary grade possessed rude primers with flaming pictures. Others were provided with a piece of a board, shaped like a paddle, on which the master obligingly printed the alphabet with a piece of charcoal taken from the open fireplace, which was probably left at the close of the preceding term, for the convenience of the next teacher. They called it a subscription school, and not many of them had much knowledge of any other kind. It was virtually a graded school, since there were three distinct grades, consisting of the a-b-c class, the Testament class, and the Bible class. It was as much an event to them to be promoted from one of those classes into the next higher as it is now to be promoted from one grade into another in the best schools in our cities.

When the time arrived to commence the work of the day the master rapped on the window with his ruler, which was made partly for that purpose.

i6 A minister’s probation.

The scholars filed in and took -their places without ceremony, the back seats being used by common consent by the larger pupils. Quiet having been secured, the master advanced to his desk and took up the subscription paper, which had been furnished him. ‘‘Answer to your names,” he commanded, without any preliminary remarks. “John Smith.”

“ Present.”

“ Mary Beck.”

“ Present.”

“ Samuel Beck.”

“ Present.”

“ Jane Martin.”

“ Present.”

“ Paul Martin.”

“ Present.”

“ Phebe Fergus.”

No answer.

“ Where is Phebe Fergus? ” and Weller turned to the school with an inquiring look.

“ Over there, sir,” replied one of the larger girls.-

“ Phebe Fergus.”

Silence.

“ Phebe Fergus, come up here,” ordered the irate master, with darkening brow.

Some one gave her a push and motioned toward the teacher’s desk. She advanced slowly, and stood trembling with terror before the strong man who awaited her, ruler in hand.

“ Did you hear me call your name? ”

THE FIRST SCHOOL.

‘‘Yes, sir.”

“ Did you answer?”

“ No, sir.”

Weller was too angry to speak. He looked down in amazement on the trembling, sobbing little specimen of humanity who defied him to his face. He gathered strength for a glorious victory, and, grasping her tiny hand in his huge, hard one, he raised his ruler over her shrinking shoulders, as he exclaimed: “You will answer next time.”

‘ ‘ Master ! master ! ’ ’

Weller paused, as Paul Martin bounded to the side of Phebe and shouted: “She never went to school before; she don’t know to say ‘Present;’ she don’t know nothing.”

“ O, is that it? yes, yes,” replied the enlightened and relieved teacher. “Did you ever go to school before ? ”

“No, sir.”

“ How did you know to say ‘ Present ? ’ ”

“Jane, she told me when you said, ‘Paul Martin,’ for me to say ‘Present.’ Jim Fergus is dead, and there was nobody to tell Phebe.”

“Yes, yes,” mused the master. “Glad you told me; now go to your seats, and, little girl, when I call your name, say ‘ Present,’ will you?”

“ Yes, sir.”

Weller picked up the paper, which he had laid on his desk. “ Phebe Fergus.”

“ Yes, sir.”

“ What? Phebe Fergus.”

“ Present,” prompted a larger girl on the seat behind her.

“Present,” faintly echoed Phebe.

“Stop that whispering!” thundered Weller. “Phebe, you are awful hard to learn, but you have got it at last. It takes patience in my business;” and, glancing complacently at the older pupils, he proceeded to finish calling the roll. When through with that important part of the programme, he faced his school and gave directions in regard to their work. “ The Bible class will take the first chapter in Genesis, and the Testament class will take the first chapter of Matthew; the first spelling class will take the first two lines on the tenth page; and the second spelling class will take the first two lines on the thirtieth page. All that want to study arithmetic will bring your books up to me, and I will show you your lessons.”

A few advanced with conscious pride, book in hand, and were speedily placed in classes of twos and threes, according to their several attainments.

Soon the usual hum of the schoolroom of that day was heard — “ B-a-ba-k-e-r-ker-baker ; ” “ A-d-ad-a-ada-m-a-n-t-mant— adamant;” “And God called the firmanent, heaven;” “And Aram begat Aminadab, and Aminadab begat; I can’t read but three verses” — all at once in a steady monotone, that rejoiced the heart of the master, as he looked with pride upon his studious pupils, without a thought of the noise and confusion, that amounted almost to an uproar. Consulting his

THE FIRST SCHOOL.

timepiece, he announced, “It is time to say your lessons. I will begin with the little ones. Where is that little Fergus girl?”

“ Here she is, sir,” said Mary Beck.

“ Come on.”

“ Go and say your lesson,” whispered Mary encouragingly.

“ Stop that whispering! I am competent to tell the child what is expected of her, without any outside assistance.”

Phebe went up to the master, of whom she was in deadly fear.

“ Do you know your letters? ”

“No, sir,”

“ Well, you are here to learn. Is this your book?”

“Yes, sir. It’s tore,” she added deprecatingly.

“It does very well; it is all here,” replied Weller graciously.

It began to dawn upon his sharpened intellect that the child was afraid of him. That was all very well, for he wanted his scholars to be afraid of him, but he did not want to frighten a little girl out of her wits the first day; furthermore, he wanted the moral and the pecuniary support of her father, as well as the good opinion of his school.

‘^I have forgotten your name. What is it? ”

“ Phebe,” she replied timidly.

“Well, Phebe, you must not be afraid of me. I will not bite you. Speak up. Would you like to have some nice little boy say his lesson with you?”

“ Yes, sir.”

Weller chuckled as he inquired: “Where is that boy that never went to school? ”

“ It is Paul Martin; here he is.”

“ Paul, come here. Do you know your letters?”

“ No, sir.”

“ Well, you and Phebe may make a team. You can both look on the same book. That is A. Say it.”

“ A,” in duet.

“ B,” in duet.

“ C,” in duet.

“ Say it over again.”

“ Say it over again,” in duet.

Some of the larger pupils made an unsuccessful effort to suppress a laugh.

“ Order! order! what are you about? Are you not ashamed to be laughing at little children, whose minds are just opening to receive the first lessons of instruction?” and the instructor grew eloquent over the greatness of their misdemeanor.

“ There, you may go to your seats now, and be quiet until I call you next time.”

And so it came about that Paul Martin and Phebe Fergus constituted the first division of the a-b-c class.

A routine of study and recitation was established the first school.

and gone through with. There was not much system, but Weller was a good teacher, and he started out with the determination to do his best. He pronounced the hard words in the reading lessons, and worked the hard sums in the arithmetic.

On the evening of that memorable first day Mrs. Fergus was astonished when her gentle, meek little Phebe climbed upon her lap, and amid tears and sobs said: “I don’t like to go to school; I don’t like the master; he most whipped me. Don’t make me go any more.”

David Fergus and his wife always went hand in hand. They took counsel with each other, and after obtaining all the facts in the case, from Phebe and from the Martin children, who stopped for her the next morning, they decided that it would not be best for their little girl to have her own way. Obedience was the first law in their parental government. She was rather young to go to school, but, having enrolled her as a pupil, and having started her, it would not do to permit her to stop. Her repugnance to school and to the master must be overcome, and now was the accepted time.

“ I intended to speak to Weller before school commenced, but I did not have a chance. I suppose it would hardly do just now. He might think it was interfering with his business. Send her along; I expect she will come out all right;” and David went to his work, not altogether easy as to the outcome of his premature attempt to educate his little daughter.

A minister’s probation.

“ I don’t want to go,” moaned Phebe.

“ O, but you must go,” said her mother, persuadingly. “ Don’tyouwanttolearnyoura-b-c’s?”

“No, I don’t.”

“ Don’t you like to play ‘ Black-man’, and ‘Pussy’ wants a corner’ at noon?”

“ I don’t want to go, ’’she persisted.

“ I don’t want to whip you,” replied her mother.

“ Come on,” coaxed Jane Martin. “ You will like it better when you get used to it.”

“ ril make old Weller keep his hands off you,” added Paul.

Phebe yielded to the children’s entreaties, because she feared her mother’s displeasure, and started to school feeling that all the world was against her. After she had entered her protest, and it had been set aside, she knew nothing else but to obey. It was quite a long walk to the schoolhouse, and as they were late starting, and did not hurry, they found that school had opened. They entered timidly.

“ What made you so late? Did you play on th-e road? ” inquired the master.

“ No, sir; we were waiting for Phebe. Mother said for us to stop for her, and she didn’t want to come, and we had to wait until her mother made her,” explained Jane.

Weller was endowed with plenty of horse sense, and understood the situation in a moment. “Did not want to come to school?” he exclaimed, in well-feigned surprise. “We could not get

The Tirst school.

along without her. I was just waiting to call the first class in the a-b-c’s. Come and let us see how much you remember.”

The lesson was a repetition of the last one, with a few additions and slight variations. The master gave Phebe a paddle, which he had probably prepared for some one else, and told her to take it home with her and show it to her mother, and be sure and be able to tell her which was O and which was P, that stood for Phebe. At noon he gave her a large red apple, and remarked to the rest of the pupils that they must not think that he was partial to Phebe ; but she was very young to come to school, and they must all try to make it pleasant for her.

Phebe overcame her fear of him, and schoolmaster Weller learned an important lesson, that day, which was not in any of their books, but which served him many a useful purpose thereafter.

Time dragged its slow length along, and when school neared the close of the term it was decided to have a “last day.” That meant that the children would all wear their best clothes, and that the parents would be present, and some of the best educated among them would give out sums to the arithmetic scholars and hard words to the spelling classes. When they had made a sufficient display of their attainments, speeches would be made to them, in which they would be told how smart they were, and how much better their advantages were than those enjoyed by their parents. At the appointed time all that was gone through with, to the edification of all present.

Paul Martin spelled loud and long, and finally went down when he forgot, and said, “ s-m-o-a-k smoke.” Phebe Fergus recited her verse in a clear, pure tone: “ Blessed are merciful: for they shall obtain mercy.” Everybody wondered at their proficiency, and smiled their approbation. The advanced pupils solved problems in the rule of three that were considered posers. The parsing of the two boys who studied grammar was one of the wonders of the day. The master made a speech, in which he told them how much they had learned, and liow much they had yet to learn.

The committee were then called upon, and when they had exhausted their eloquence the common fathers had a chance to sa}^ a few words. Everything was harmonious, and all agreed that they had had a good school, and that it had been presided over by a worthy, upright, competent master.

A subscription paper was prepared, and Mr. Fer^, gus was requested to pass among the people and get as many signatures for the next term as he could. He had no trouble in making up a respectable list. When the show was dismissed an inquisitive old lady laughingly asked Master Weller which one of his scholars had learned most during the term. Unhesitatingly he replied: “All have done well, especially the little ones. No one has done better than the two youngest, Paul Martin and Phebe Fergus.”

CHAPTER III. The Corn Husking

The amusements in those early days generally combined pleasure and utility. When the young people met together by appointment, it was at a quilting, a wood chopping, an apple butter stirring, or a corn husking. Sometimes two of those important affairs were united, and such was the case at Carson’s corn husking. The girls were all invited to be present at one o’clock, with needle and thimble, to quilt a star quilt, of blue and white cotton goods, which Mrs. Carson had taken great pains in piecing, and which elicited the admiration of all that beheld it. They went with nimble fingers and equally nimble tongues. They talked of the cows they milked and the butter they churned. They talked of the flax they spun and of the linen they wove. They talked and quilted, and quilted and talked. They talked about their preacher and they talked about his wife. They did not say any harm of either of them, but they talked. They talked about their sewing and the number of quilts they had pieced. They talked of their knitting and the number of pairs of stockings they had knit. When they had exhausted every imaginable subject, and could think of nothing else to talk about, they talked about the boys.

A minister’s probation.

“ I wonder if George Jones will be here?” inquired Martha Roberts.

“La me! how should we know? I was just going to ask you. If you do not know, you cannot expect us to know,” replid Ellen White.

Then all the girls giggled, just exactly like a modern set of giggling girls, when similar laughing remarks are made, which are supposed to mean much more than they do.

“Will Paul Martin be here?” asked Mary Davis.

“You will have to ask Phebe Fergus about that,” was the teasing reply.

“Phebe Fergus? I did not know that he ever went with her. When did he become her property, I should like to know? ”

“ He is not my property,” retorted Phebe.

“You need not fly off the handle about it; I am sure T do not know anybody that cares if he is. I had not heard it, that is all,” said Mary sweetly.

“You have not heard it yet, and never will,” and Phebe seized the scissors and snapped off an unoffending thread, as if she felt a moral antipathy toward it.

“ Girls, quit your fighting about your beaus. Think about your work. I want that quilt out of the frames in time to set the table for supper ; ’ ’ and Mrs. Carson, with assumed seriousness, shook her head at the culprits through the door, which opened into the kitchen.

THE CORN HUSKING.

The girls all blushed, and every one of them declared that she had not opened her lips to say a word for more than half an hour. Good nature was restored, the needles flew, and the quilt was finished and taken from the frames in ample time.

A plain, well-cooked, substantial supper followed, which was eaten with zest by the hungry, happy maidens, whose appetites were whetted by faithful work, well done.

Mr. Carson asked a blessing upon the food at the beginning of the meal, and returned thanks at its close.

Every girl there volunteered to help wash the dishes. Their standing in society depended a great deal upon their reputation for industry. A girl who sat around unconcerned, while some one else did the work, was but little respected, and was treated accordingly. Their training had been such that nearly every one of them loved work, and enjoyed doing it. If any one did not, it was to her interest to assume the virtue that did not come natural to her.

When the dishes were all washed, and things put in their proper places, the girls began to primp. Soap and water, combs and brushes, were in demand. Their work was done, and the boys were gathering at the barn. Tallow candles placed in excavated pumpkins afforded light. The girls were not expected to husk corn after quilting all the afternoon, but they would have to go out to the barn, once in a while, to see how the work was progress-