Captain Pott's Minister

Francis L. (Francis Le Roy) Cooper

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• Publié par: emmi
• Publié le: 08 décembre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 32
• Langue: English

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The Project Gutenberg EBook of Captain Pott's Minister, by Francis L. Cooper This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: Captain Pott's Minister Author: Francis L. Cooper Illustrator: John Goss Release Date: December 19, 2009 [EBook #30713] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CAPTAIN POTT'S MINISTER *** Produced by Darleen Dove, Roger Frank and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net “THEN, LET ME HEAR YOU SAY YOU LOVE ME!”––Page 335. CAPTAIN POTT’S MINISTER By FRANCIS L. COOPER ILLUSTRATED BY JOHN GOSS BOSTON LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. All Rights Reserved Captain Pott’s Minister Printed in U. S. A. Norwood Press BERWICK & SMITH CO. NORWOOD, MASS. To Betty ILLUSTRATIONS FACING PAGE “Then, let me hear you say you love me!” (page 335) “Now, see here, Beth, there ain’t no use of your pretending to me.” “There ain’t money enough in the world to make me do that.” Miss Pipkin had been disturbed by the noise. Frontispiece 146 242 262 CAPTAIN POTT’S MINISTER CHAPTER I The sound of voices suddenly arrested Captain Pott’s fork in mid-air, and the morsel of untasted saltmackerel dangled uncertainly from the points of the dingy tines as he swung about to face the open door. Fork and mackerel fell to the floor as the seaman abruptly rose and stalked outside. The stern features of the rugged old face sagged with astonishment as he blinked at the small army of men swarming over his littered yard. “’Mornin’, Cap’n,” cheerily called Hank Simpson, the village storekeeper, as he approached the irate man on the stoop. Captain Pott was so completely jarred out of his usual complacency that for once he had nothing to say. He forgot even to swear. As the significance of the movements of the intruders suddenly dawned upon him he mutely glared at Hank from beneath blackened and swollen eyelids. “The women-folks said that you’d be wantin’ to make your place look peart, bein’ as the new minister is goin’ to stay here with you,” explained Hank, who was apparently the leader of the group. “When we menfolks heard that they was goin’ to clean up on the inside we thought it wouldn’t be no more than neighborly for us to pitch in and give you a hand with the outside.” It was evident that the Captain did not relish the explanation, for he bristled with dangerous hostility as he took a step forward. But before he could refer Hank Simpson and his entire male army to a certain warm 9 10 climate where he thought they might go with mutual advantage to himself and them, the morning breeze carried within earshot another note, higher in the scale, but unmistakable in significance. Silently the old man stood and dumbly watched a procession of petticoats march up to his gate and turn into the cinder path. The female army took possession of the house even as the men had taken possession of the yard, and he who had commanded mutinous crews on the briny deep fled and took refuge in the shade of a spreading elm near the well. Mrs. Eadie Beaver, the Captain’s next-door neighbor, approached him, requested that he pitch in and help, and then as quickly beat a retreat before the fierce glare. Hank Simpson once asked where they might burn the accumulated trash. The answer was unsatisfactory though forceful. Hank declared, “Them instructions is wuth a heap, Cap’n, but unless you’ve got a trap-door to them parts hereabout, I reckon we’ll have to do the crematin’ some other way.” All the shutters on the old house were thrown wide open, and sunshine and air were allowed to penetrate corners where dust and cobwebs had held undisputed sway for years. Through the open windows came the sound of tack-hammer and puller, the moving of tables, sideboards, and chairs, and of every other article of furniture that was not actually built into the walls. From his place beneath the elm the Captain heard all these sounds, and watched his old pieces being piled in a confused mass about the front yard. He was smoking incessantly, and swearing no less frequently. From up the road came the sharp thud of beating hoofs. As horse and rider came into view he deliberately turned in the opposite direction. At the gate the rider drew rein and swung lithely to the ground. Many young admirers gathered quickly about the hitching-post, but the girl was too swift for them. With a friendly nod and smile she tossed her reins to a bashful youngster, and tripped up the path to where the seaman was standing. The daughter of the senior Elder of the Little River church had always been fond of Captain Pott. When but an infant she had looked up into the clear blue eyes, adoration and love in her own. During childhood she had sat contentedly on his knee, or on a stool at his feet, listening with rapt interest to his stories of adventure by land and sea. The Captain had never been able to spin the wild yarns commonly known to be his habit when Elizabeth Fox was his only audience. This was not due to any fear that she would have detected fraud in his impossible tales, but to the fact that he could not lie when the gaze of her big blue eyes was fastened on him. To-day she edged near and waited for recognition. Locks of her fair hair, shaken loose by her ride, went straying bewitchingly over her face and forehead. The smile in her eyes crept down to the corners of her mouth as she sought the averted face above her. But all she could glimpse were violent motions of one ragged point of his moustache as it kept imperfect time with the unseen end which was being viciously chewed. At length, the irresistible little attraction at his side proved too strong for the Captain’s stubbornness, and he looked down into her big blue eyes. At sight of his own blackened and swollen lids Elizabeth uttered a sharp cry. She took the roughened hand in hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. But her deep concern was quickly followed by a ripple of laughter. Hers was a laugh that was as good to see as to hear. The Captain smiled a wholly unintentional smile and returned the pressure of her hand. “Dear me, Uncle Josiah!” she exclaimed. “You look so