Polly of the Circus Part 13

"Well, it don't make no difference whether you do or not. She's got to go."

"Go?" echoed Douglas.

"Yes, sir-e-bob. We've made up our minds to that."

"And who do you mean by 'we'?"

"The members of this congregation," replied Strong, impatiently.

"Am I to understand that YOU are speaking for THEM?" There was a deep frown between the young pastor's eyes. He was beginning to be perplexed.

"Yes, and as deacon of this church."

"Then, as deacon of this church, you tell the congregation for me that that is MY affair."

"Your affair!" shouted Strong. "When that girl is living under the church's roof, eating the church's bread!"

"Just one moment! You don't quite understand. I am minister of this church, and for that position I receive, or am supposed to receive, a salary to live on, and this parsonage, rent free, to live in. Any guests that I may have here are MY guests, and NOT guests of the church.

Remember that, please."

There was an embarra.s.sing silence. The deacons recalled that the pastor's salary WAS slightly in arrears. Elverson coughed meekly. Strong started.

"You keep out of this, Elverson!" he cried. "I'm running this affair and I ain't forgetting my duty nor the parson's."

"I shall endeavour to do MY duty as I see it," answered Douglas, turning away and dismissing the matter.

"Your duty is to your church," thundered Strong.

"You're right about that, Deacon Strong'" answered Douglas, wheeling about sharply, "and my duty to the church is reason enough for my acting exactly as I am doing in this case."

"Is your duty to the church the ONLY reason you keep that girl here?"

"No, there are other reasons."

"I thought so."

"You've heard her story--you MUST have heard. She was left with me by an old clown who belonged in the circus where she worked. Before he died he asked me to look after her. She has no one else. I shall certainly do so."

"That was when she was hurt. She's well now, and able to go back where she came from. Do you expect us to have our young folks a.s.sociatin' with a circus ridin' girl?"

"So, that's it!" cried the pastor, with a pitying look. "You think this child is unfit for your homes because she was once in a circus. For some reason, circus to you spells crime. You call yourself a Christian, Deacon Strong, and yet you insist that I send a good, innocent girl back to a life which you say is sinful. I'm ashamed of you, Strong--I'm ashamed of you!"

"That talk don't do no good with me," roared Strong. He was desperate at being accused of an unchristian att.i.tude.

"I ain't askin' you to send her back to the circus. I don't care WHERE you send her. Get her away from HERE, that's all."

"Not so long as she wishes to stay."

"You won't?" Strong saw that he must try a new attack. He came close to Douglas and spoke with a marked insinuation. "If you was a friend to the girl, you wouldn't want the whole congregation a-pointin' fingers at her."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that you're living here alone with her and it looks bad--bad for the girl, and bad for YOU--and folks is talkin'."

"Are you trying to tell me that my people are evil-minded enough to think that I--" Douglas stopped. He could not frame the question. "I don't believe it," he concluded shortly.

"You'll be MADE to believe it if you don't get rid of that girl."

"Do YOU believe it?" He turned upon the little man at his side! "Do you believe it, Elverson?"

Elverson had been so accustomed to Strong monopolising the conversation, that he had become hopelessly lost as the discussion went on, and the sudden appeal to him all but paralysed his power of speech. He was still gurgling and sputtering when Strong interrupted, impatiently.

"It makes no difference whether we believe it or not. We're going to do our duty by the church, and that girl must leave or----"

"Or I must." Douglas pieced out Strong's phrase for himself. "That threat doesn't frighten me at all, deacon. After what you have said, I should refuse to remain in this church"--the deacon stepped forward eagerly--"were it not that I realise more than ever before how much you need me, how much you ignorant, narrow-minded creatures need to be taught the meaning of true Christianity." The deacon was plainly disappointed.

"Is it possible?" gasped Elverson, weakly.

"Well, what are you going to do about it?" asked Strong, when he could trust himself to speak again.

"I shall do what is best for Miss Polly," said the pastor quietly but firmly.

He turned away to show that the interview was at an end. Strong followed him. Douglas pointed to the gate with a meaning not to be mistaken.

"Good afternoon, deacon."

Strong hesitated. He looked at the pastor, then at the gate, then at the pastor again. "I'll go," he shouted; "but it ain't the end!" He slammed the gate behind him.

"Quite so, quite so," chirped Elverson, not having the slightest idea of what he was saying. He saw the frigid expression on the pastor's face, he coughed behind his hat, and followed Strong.

Chapter X

Douglas dropped wearily onto the rustic bench. He sat with drooped head and unseeing eyes. He did not hear Polly as she scurried down the path, her arms filled with autumn leaves. She glanced at him, dropped the bright-coloured foliage, and slipped quickly to the nearest tree. "One, two, three for Mr. John," she cried, as she patted the huge, brown trunk.

"Is that you, Polly?" he asked absently.

"Now, it's your turn to catch me," she said, lingering near the tree.

The pastor was again lost in thought. "Aren't you going to play any more?" There was a shade of disappointment in her voice. She came slowly to his side.

"Sit here, Polly," he answered gravely, pointing to a place on the bench. "I want to talk to you."

"Now, I've done something wrong," she pouted. She gathered up her garlands and brought them to a place near his feet, ignoring the seat at his side. "You might just as well tell me and get it over."

"You couldn't do anything wrong," he answered, looking down at her.

"Oh, yes, I could--and I've done it--I can see it in your face. What is it?"

"What have you there?" he asked, trying to gain time, and not knowing how to broach the subject that in justice to her must be discussed.