It was his way. I never
sat under a preacher who had better reasoning powers or a worse way of
reasoning. Down in front of him sat Grandma Thorndyke, listening
intently, and smiling up to him whenever he got in hub-deep; but at the
same time her hands were clenched into fists in her well-darned
black-silk gloves.
I did not know all this then, for her back was toward us; but I saw it
so often afterward! It was that honking habit of the elder's which had
driven them, she often told me, from New England to Ohio, then to
Illinois, and finally out to Monterey Centre. The new country caught the
halt like Elder Thorndyke, the lame like the Fewkeses, the outcast like
the Bushyagers and the Blivens, the blind like me, the far-seeing like
N.V. Creede, the prophets like old Dunlap the Abolitionist and Amos
Thatcher, and the great drift of those who felt a drawing toward the
frontier like iron filings to a magnet, or came with the wind of
emigration like tumble-weeds before the autumn blast.
I remembered that when Virginia was with me back there by the side of
the road that first day, Elder Thorndyke and his wife had come by
inquiring for her; and I did not quite relish the idea of being found
here with her after all these long days; so when church was out I took
Virginia by the hand and tried to get out as quickly as possible; but
when we reached the door, there were Elder Thorndyke and grandma
shaking hands with the people, and trying to be pastoral; though it was
clear that they were as much strangers as we.
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