Ch. 9 - Mrs. Wilkins's Minister - Page 2

somewhere behind it. Christie
once laughingly spoke of this habit and declared she would try it
herself if she thought it would make her as quiet and
undemonstrative as Mr. Wilkins, who, to tell the truth, made no more
impression on her than a fly.

"I don't approve on't, but he might do wuss. We all have to have our
comfort somehow, so I let Lisha smoke as much as he likes, and he
lets me gab, so it's about fair, I reckon," answered Mrs. Wilkins,
from the suds.

She laughed as she spoke, but something in her face made Christie
suspect that at some period of his life Lisha had done "wuss;" and
subsequent observations confirmed this suspicion and another one
also,--that his good wife had saved him, and was gently easing him
back to self-control and self-respect. But, as old Fuller quaintly
says, "She so gently folded up his faults in silence that few
guessed them," and loyally paid him that respect which she desired
others to bestow. It was always "Lisha and me," "I'll ask my
husband" or "Lisha 'll know; he don't say much, but he's a dreadful
smart man," and she kept up the fiction so dear to her wifely soul
by endowing him with her own virtues, and giving him the credit of
her own intelligence.

Christie loved her all the better for this devotion, and for her
sake treated Mr. Wilkins as if he possessed the strength of Samson
and the wisdom of Solomon. He received her respect as if it was his
due, and now and then graciously accorded her a few words beyond the
usual scanty allowance of morning and evening greetings. At his shop
all day, she only saw him at meals and sometimes of an evening, for
Mrs. Wilkins tried to keep him at home safe from temptation, and
Christie helped her by reading, talking, and frolicking with the
children, so that he might find home attractive. He loved his babies
and would even relinquish his precious pipe for a time to ride the
little chaps on his foot, or amuse Vic with shadow rabbit's on the
wall.

At such times the entire content in Mrs. Wilkins's face made tobacco
fumes endurable, and the burden of a dull man's presence less
oppressive to Christie, who loved to pay her debts in something
besides money.

As they sat together finishing off some delicate laces that Saturday
afternoon, Mrs. Wilkins said, "Ef it's fair to-morrow I want you to
go to my meetin' and hear my minister. It'll do you good."

"Who is he?"

"Mr. Power."

Christie looked rather startled, for she had heard of Thomas Power
as a rampant radical and infidel of the deepest dye, and been warned
never to visit that den of iniquity called his free church.

"Why, Mrs.