The Devil's Garden by W. B. Maxwell

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"Hail, sov'reign love, that first began
The scheme to rescue fallen man!
Hail, matchless, free, eternal grace,
That gave my soul a hiding-place."

With his face turned as much as possible from the singers, he stood
very stiff and erect, staring at the printed page. Loudly as they had
sung the first verse they seemed to sing the second verse more loudly.

"Against the God that rules the sky,
I fought with hand uplifted high;
Despised His rich abounding grace,
Too proud to seek a hiding-place."

Dale braced himself, squared his shoulders and stood more erect than
ever as they struck into the third verse.

They sang louder than before: it seemed to him that they were
screaming.

"But thus th' eternal counsel ran,
'_Almighty_ love, arrest that man!'"

Dale closed the hymn-book, held it behind his back, and stared at the
cross-beams of the roof until the hymn was over.

After the hymn Mr. Osborn read a couple of chapters from the Bible,
and Dale, seated again, understood how utterly unfounded had been his
recent notion that these people were devoting any particular attention
to him. He looked at them carefully. Obviously they had not a thought
of him. The eyes of those near to him and far from him were alike
fixed upon the pastor's face.

But as soon as they sang again he experienced the same sensations
again, felt a conviction that the hymn was aimed directly at him.

"Lord, when Thy Spirit deigns to show
The badness of our hearts,
Astonished at the amazing view,
The Soul with horror starts.

"Our staggering faith gives way to doubt,
Our courage yields to fear;
Shocked at the sight, we straight cry out,
'Can ever God dwell here?'

"None less than God's Almighty Son
Can move such loads of sin;
The water from his side must run,
To wash this dungeon clean."

"Now, I think," said Mr. Osborn, "it is fairly lighting-up time, and
that no one can accuse us of being extravagant if we call for the
match-boxes. Brother Maghull, please get to work. And, yes, you too,
Brother Hartley, if you will. You're always a dab at regulating them."

Then the lamps were lighted; two or three men going round to do the
work, the congregation generally assisting as much as they were able,
while the pastor, watching all operations, made genial comments.

"Thank you. Now we begin to see who's who, and what's what. I say,
that's on the smoke, isn't it? I seem to smell something, or is it
imagination? If the wicks are as badly trimmed as they were three
Sundays ago, I shall be tempted to copy the procedure of the House of
Commons, and _name_ a member." Then he smiled. "Yes, I shall name a
certain young sister who must have turned clumsy-fingered because she
was thinking of her fal-lals and her chignon, or her new hat, when
she ought to have been thinking of her duty to our lamps."

A ripple of gentle laughter, like a lightly dancing wave on a deep
calm sea, passed from the platform to the outer door; the lamplighters
went back to their seats; and the pastor with a change of voice said
solemnly: "Friends, let us pray."

Dale observed his manner of holding his hand to his forehead as if
seeking inspiration, the almost spasmodic movements of his mouth, the
sort of plaintive groan that started the prayer, and the steadily
accumulating earnestness with which it went on.

"O merciful and divine Father, supreme and omnipotent lord of Thy
created universe, vouchsafe unto this little knot of Thy lowly
creatures ..."

It was a long prayer; and Dale, surmising it to be an extempore
composition, admired Mr. Osborn's flow of language, command of erudite
words, and success in bringing some very intricate sentences to an
appropriate period.

During the sermon Mr. Osborn several times aroused laughter by little
homely jokes coming unexpectedly in the midst of his serious
discourse; but Dale no longer felt surprise. He thought that he had
caught their point of view, got the hang of the main scheme. These
people were genuine believers, and entirely free from any affectation
or pretense. They possessed no church-manner: thus, when they spoke to
one another here, they did so as naturally as when they were speaking
in the fields or on the highroads. Only when they spoke to God, could
you hear the vibration and the thrill, the effort and the strain.

And all at once his own self-consciousness vanished. He felt
comfortable, quite at ease, and extraordinarily glad that he had
dedicated an hour to the purpose of coming here.

The lamplight enormously improved the appearance of the chapel; the
genial yellow glow was surrounded by fine dark shadows that draped the
ugly walls as if with soft curtains; there were golden glittering
bands on the roof beams, and above them all had become black,
impenetrable, mysterious. When one glanced up one might have had the
night sky over one's head, for all one could see of the roof. The
light shone bright on crooked backs, slightly distorted limbs, the
pallor of sickness, the stains of rough weather; on girls meekly
folding hands that daily scrub and scour; on laboring men stooping the
shoulders that habitually carry weights; on spectacled old women with
eyes worn out by incessantly peering at the tiny stitches of their
untiring needles; but one would have looked in vain for any types even
approximately similar to the stalwart well-balanced youths, the
smooth-cheeked game-playing maidens, the prosperously healthful
fathers and mothers of the established faith. Dale did not look for
them, did not miss them, would not have wished them here.

It might be said that there was not a single person of the whole
gathering on whom there was not plainly printed, in one shape or
another, the stamp of toil. That fact perhaps formed the root of the
difference between this and a Church of England congregation. To
Dale's mind, however, there was something else of a saliently
differentiating character. Once again he was struck by the expression
of all the faces. He thought how calm, how trustful, how quietly
joyous these people must be feeling, in order to shine back at the
lamps as steadily and clearly as the lamps were shining on them.

"Friends, let us praise God by singing the hundred and tenth hymn
before we separate."

They all rose and began to sing their final song; and Dale observed
that here and there, as the loud chorus swelled and flowed, singers
would sink down upon their knees as though of a sudden impelled to
silence and prayer.

"There is a fountain filled with blood,
Drawn from Emmanuel's veins;
And sinners plunged beneath that flood,
Lose all their guilty stains.

"The dying thief rejoiced to see
That fountain in his day;
And there may I, as vile as he,
Wash all my sins away."

Dale abruptly sat down, leaned forward, and then knelt upon the
boarded floor, hiding his face in his hands. He did not get up until
the pastor had given the blessing and the people were moving out.

XIX

As so often happens toward the latter part of April, there had come a
spell of unseasonably warm weather; thunder had been threatening for
the last week, and now at the end of an oppressive day you could
almost smell the electricity in the air.

Mavis warned Dale that he would get a sousing, when he told her that
he was obliged to go as far as Rodchurch.

"Won't it do to-morrow, Will?"

"No, I shan't have time to-morrow. Remember I'm not made of
barley-sugar. I shouldn't melt, you know, even if I hadn't got my
mack."

Norah fetched him his foul weather hat, and ran for his umbrella.

"No," he said, "I don't want that, my dear;" and he smiled at her very
kindly. "Besides, if we're going to have a storm, an umbrella is just
the article to bring the lightning down on my head."

Norah pulled away the umbrella hastily, as though she would now have
fought to the death rather than let him have it.

"Don't wait supper, Mav. I may be latish."

He walked fast, and his mackintosh made him uncomfortably warm. The
rain held off, although now and then a few heavy drops fell ominously.
It was quite dark--a premature darkness caused by the clouds that hung
right across the sky. There seemed to be nobody on the move but
himself; the street at Rodchurch was absolutely empty, the
tobacconist's shop at the corner being alone awake and feebly busy,
the oil lamps flickering in the puffs of a warm spring wind.

He took one glance toward the post office, and then went right down
the street and out upon the common. The house that he was seeking
stood a little way off the road, and a broad beam of light from an
open window proved of assistance as he crossed the broken and uneven
ground. While he groped for the bell handle inside the dark porch he
could hear, close at hand, a purring and whirring sound of wheels that
he recognized as the unmistakable noise made by a carpenter's lathe.
As soon as he rang the bell the lathe stopped working, and next moment
the Baptist pastor came to the door.

"Mr. Dale--is it not?

"Yes--good evening, Mr. Osborn."

"Pray come in."

"Thank you. Could you spare time for a chat?"

"Surely. I was expecting you."

Dale drew back, and spoke coldly, almost rudely.

"Indeed? I am not aware of any reason for your doing so."

"I ought to have said, _hoping_ to see you."

"Oh. May I ask why?"

Mr. Osborn laughed contentedly. "Since I saw you at our service, you
know. Please come into my room."

It was not an attractive or nicely furnished room. All one side of it
was occupied by the lathe, bench, and tools; and on this side the
boards of the floor, with a carpet rolled back, were covered with
wood shavings.

"There, take off your wraps and be seated, Mr. Dale. I'll sort my
rubbish. Stuffy night, isn't it?"

Dale noticed that there was no bookcase, and he could not detect more
than six books anywhere lying about. Perhaps there were some in the
chiffonier. He would have expected to find quite a little library at a
house tenanted by this sort of man.

"What do you think of that?" And Mr. Osborn handed him the small round
box which he had been turning. "I amuse myself so. It's my hobby."

"You don't feel the want to read of an evening?"

"No, I'm not a book-worm. But one has to do something; so I took up
this. If folk chaff me"--and Mr. Osborn smiled and nodded his
head--"well, I tell them that infinitely better people than I have
done carpentering in their time. Of course they don't always follow
the allusion."

Dale himself did not follow it. He understood that this was light and
airy conversation provided by Mr. Osborn for the amiable purpose of
putting him at his ease. He had taken off the slouch hat and loose
coat that had made him look like some rough shepherd or herdsman; and
now, as he sat stiffly on a chair, showing his jacket, breeches, and
gaiters, he looked like a farmer who had come to buy or to sell stock.
His manner was altogether businesslike when, after clearing his
throat, he explained the actual reason of the visit. If it would not
be troubling Mr. Osborn too much, he desired to obtain information
about Baptist tenets, adult baptism, total immersion, and so on. Mr.
Osborn, declaring that it was no trouble, and in an equally
businesslike manner, gave him the information.

"Is there anything else I can tell you?"

"I am afraid of putting you out."

"Not in the least."

"Well, then, if you're sure I don't trespass--Mr. Osborn, the kind way
you're receiving me makes me venturesome. I see an ash-tray over
there, proving you sometimes favor the weed. Would you mind if I took
a whiff of tobacco--a pipe?"

"Why, surely not."

"You won't join me?"

"No, thanks. But I'll tell you what I will do;" and Mr. Osborn emitted
a chuckle. "I'll go on with my boxes, if you'll allow me."

"I should greatly prefer it."

"You know, I can listen just as well, while I'm fiddling away at my
nonsense."

"I find," said Dale, as he filled his pipe, "that I rely on smoking
more and more. Seems with me to steady the nerves and clear the brain.
I know there are others that it just fuddles."

"Exactly."

Mr. Osborn had gone back to the lathe, and the pleasantly soothing
whir of the wheels was heard again, while a fountain of the finest
possible shavings began to spin in the air. For a few moments Dale
watched him at his work. His gray hair flopped about queerly; he made
rapid precise movements; and he talked as though he still had his eyes
on one, although his back was turned.

"There are matches at your elbow, Mr. Dale--on that shelf--beside the
flower-pot."

"Thanks, Mr. Osborn."

He wore a loose blue flannel coat, and Dale wondered if this was a
garment that he had bought years ago to play cricket in. Perhaps he
had belonged to a University. It was quite clear that he must have had
an extremely lib'ral education to start with. And Dale thought again
what he had thought just now in the porch--that one ought to be
precious careful in dealing with a man of such natural and acquired
powers.

However, the fact that Mr. Osborn was continuing his work, and yet, as
he had promised, at the same time listening properly, made the
interview easier and Dale more comfortable. He recovered his
self-confidence, and after puffing out a sufficient cloud of smoke,
talked weightily and didactically.

"I am desirous not to exaggerate; but I would like to state that I was
well impressed by my experience of your ritual--if that is the correct
term. I seemed to find what I had not found elsewhere. If I may speak
quite openly, I would say it appeared to me there wasn't an ounce of
humbug in your service."

"Oh, I hope not."

"Now, in the event of a person wishing to become a member--in short,
to embrace the Baptist faith entirely, there are one or two points
that I'd like to have cleared up."

Then Dale asked a lot of questions; and the pastor, seeming to go on
with the work, answered over his shoulder, or looking round for an
instant only.

Dale wished to learn all about the method of receiving adults; he
asked also if anything in the nature of confession or absolute
submission to the priest would be required. And the pastor said, "No,
nothing of the sort." Such a person must of course bring a cleansed
and purified heart to the ceremony, or it would be the very worst kind
of humbug for him to present himself at all. But that was a matter
which concerned him and God, who reads all hearts and knows all
secrets. Mr. Osborn said it had never been the practise of Baptist
ministers to insinuate themselves into the private secrets of their
flocks. They left that to the Roman Catholics.

Dale heartily commended the Baptist custom. He said that much of his
objection to religion had been caused by what he read of the Roman
Catholic faith. As a responsible man he could never bring himself to
that abject submission to another man, however you sanctified and
tricked out the other man; besides, no one of mature age cares to make
a complete confession of his past life. There must always be things
that he could not force himself to disclose--follies, indiscretions,
perhaps the grievous mistakes which he himself wants to forget,
knowing that improvement lies in determination for better conduct, and
not in brooding on past failure.

Mr. Osborn looked round, and used a gentle deprecating tone.

"You speak of your objection to religion; but, Mr. Dale, you are a
singularly religious man. You are, really."

"I will postpone that part of it, if you please"--and Dale became
rather stiff again--"but with the intention of adverting to it later.
What I wish first to lay at rest is something in regard to the hymns
employed on the occasion of my attendance. The numbers were one
hundred and twenty-six, six hundred and fifty-nine, and one hundred
and ten. Now I ask you as man to man, feeling sure you'll give me a
straight answer: Were those hymns specially selected for the reason
that I had chanced to drop in?"

Mr. Osborn stopped work, looked round quickly, and his face was all
bright and eager.

"No. But did you feel there was a special message to you in them?"

"I wouldn't put it quite like that," said Dale guardedly.

"Because it so often happens. It has happened again and again--to my
own knowledge."

"You'll understand, Mr. Osborn, that I didn't take them as any way
personal to myself--certainly not any way offensive; but it occurred
to me that it might perhaps be the habit whenever a stranger dropped
in to pick out hymns of strength, with a view to shaking him and
warming him up, as it were."

The pastor resumed his work. "Those hymns were given out the day
before--Saturday. Sister Eldridge had asked for one hundred and
twenty-six; number six hundred and fifty-nine was, as far as I
remember, also bespoken; and I chose number one hundred and ten
myself--because it is a great favorite of mine. So you see, Mr. Dale,
at the time we settled on those hymns, we did not know that you were
coming--and perhaps you did not know it yourself."

"I did not know it," said Dale.

"Tell me," said Mr. Osborn, "how doubt has assailed you."

"Ah, there you put me a puzzling one;" and Dale puffed at his pipe
laboriously.

"You oughtn't to doubt, you know. You have what men prize--wife,
children, and home. You thrive, and the world smiles on you."

"Yes, I'm more than solvent. I hope to leave Mrs. Dale and the babes
secure."

"But you don't feel secure yourself?"

"I banked a matter of seven hundred last year."

"You know I didn't mean that." Mr. Osborn worked briskly, and sent the
shavings almost to the ceiling. "But still--lots of men have told me
that material prosperity renders faith easy and doubt difficult.
That's the awful danger of trouble--the danger of thinking that God
has deserted us. It's easiest to recognize His hand when all's going
well with us. That's our poor human nature. And then when our sorrows
come, it's the devil's innings, and he'll whisper: 'Where's God now?
He isn't treating you very kindly, is He, in return for all your
praying and kneeling and believing?'"

"Yes, that just hits the nail on the head. It was what I said--at a
period when trouble fell upon me. It was how the doubt came in and the
belief went out. And nowadays, when, as you mention, things run smooth
and I know I've much to be thankful for, the doubt holds firm. For one
thing prob'bly, I read a great deal; I've crammed my head with
science; can't ever have enough of it. But, of course, I'm but an
ignorant man compared with you."

"Oh, no."

"Yes. I bow down to education--whenever I meet it. I needn't
apologize--because I hadn't many advantages. I try to make up by
application. I read, and I'm always thinking--and having mastered the
rudiments of science, I can look with some comprehension at the whole
scheme of nature. With the result that, viewing my own affairs in the
same spirit that I view the whole bag of tricks, I ask myself that
same old question of _Q. I. Bono._"

"What's that?"

"That's Latin," said Dale. "_Q. I. Bono._"

"Oh, yes--exactly."

"Where's the good? Whatever one has, it isn't enough if this life is
all we've got to look to and there's nothing beyond it."

Mr. Osborn had let the wheels run down. He came and sat opposite to
Dale, and spoke very quietly.

"There is everything beyond it."

"And supposing that's so, one's difficulty begins bigger than before.
It's the life-risk a million times larger all over again--success or
failure, punishment or peace."

"That's better than what happened to the match you threw into the
fender--extinction."

"I want to believe. Mr. Osborne, I wish to speak with honesty. I feel
the need to believe. If you can make me believe, you'll do me a great
service."

"The service will be done, but it won't be I who does it."

"I want to be saved. I want the day when you can tell me I have gained
everlasting salvation."

"The day will come; but it will not be my voice that tells you."

Mr. Osborn got up to fetch one of the six shabby volumes, and when he
had returned to his chair he went on talking.

"What you should do is to take things quietly. You are a fine
specimen, Mr. Dale, muscularly; but your nerves aren't quite so grand
as your muscles." He said this just as doctors talk to patients, and
as if Dale had been speaking of his bodily health. "Don't worry--and
don't hurry. And I'd like to read you a passage here, to set your
thoughts on the right line.... Well, well, I fancied I'd put a
paper-mark. I shall only garble it if I try to quote from memory. It
was Doctor Clifford, speaking about Jesus at our last Autumn Assembly.
He says Jesus never put God forward as a severe judge, or hard
taskmaster, but as His Father.... Ah, here we are. May I read it?"

"Yes, I wish to hear it."

"'God is Father; He is our Father. To Him'--speaking of Jesus--'and to
us God is Father, and that means that we are in a deep and real sense
His children, and, being children, then brothers to each other; for if
God must be interpreted in terms of fatherhood, then man will never be
interpreted accurately until he is interpreted in the terms of
brotherhood.'" Mr. Osborn closed the book and laid his hand on Dale's
knee. "How does that strike you, Brother Dale?"

"It strikes me as beautifully worded--Brother Osborn."

"That's how I want you to think of Him. A Father's love. Nothing
strange nor new about it. Just what you used to be thinking as a boy,
coming home to Father."

"I can't remember my father," said Dale simply. "He died when I was a
baby, and mother married again. I only knew a stepfather."

"Then you'll know the real thing now, if you join us." Mr. Osborn
beamed cheerfully. "Understand, I don't press you. Why should I? The
pressure behind you is not of this earth; and if it's there, as I
think it is, you'll no more resist it than the iron bolt resists the
steam-ram. But what's steam and _horse_-power?" And he beamed all over
his face. "This is ten thousand _angel_-power to the square inch."

The rain began as Dale walked up the village street, in which no light
except that of the public lamps was now showing. It fell sharply as he
emerged into the open country, and then abruptly ceased. The odor of
dust that has been partially moistened rose from the roadway; some
dead leaves scurried in the ditch with a sound of small animals
running for shelter; and he felt a heavy, tepid air upon his face, as
if some large invisible person was breathing on him.

Then the heavens opened, and a flood of light came pouring down. The
thunder seemed simultaneous with the flash. It was a crashing roar
that literally shook the ground. It was as if, without prelude or
warning, every house in England had fallen, every gun fired, and every
powder-magazine blown up. Dale stood still, trying to steady himself
after the shock, and ascertaining that his eyes had not been blinded
nor the drums of his ears broken.

Then he walked on slowly, watching the storm. The lightning flooded
and forked, the thunder boomed and banged; and it seemed to Dale that
the whole world had been turned upside down. When one looked up at the
illuminated sky, one seemed to be looking down at a mountainous
landscape. The clouds, rent apart, torn, and shattered, were like
masses of high hills, inky black on the summits, with copper-colored
precipices and glistening purple slopes; and in remote depths of the
valleys, where there should have been lakes of water, there were lakes
of fire. In the intervals between the flashes, when suddenly the sky
became dark, one had a sensation that the earth had swung right again,
and that it was now under one's feet as usual instead of being over
one's head.

Dale plodding along thought of all he had read about thunder-storms.
It was quite true, what he said to Norah. Lightning strikes the
highest object. That was why trees had got such a bad name for
themselves; although, as a fact, you were often a jolly sight safer
under a tree than out in the open. Salisbury Plain, he had read, was
the most dangerous place in England; for the reason that, because of
its bareness, it made a six-foot man as conspicuous, upstanding an
object as a church tower or a factory chimney would be elsewhere. And
he thought that if any cattle had been left out in those wide flat
fields near the Baptist Chapel, they were now in great peril. Mav's
cows were all safe under cover.

Then, stimulated by a new thought, he began to walk faster. He hurried
on until he came to the middle of the flats; then, gropingly through
the darkness, and swiftly through the light, he made his way to a gate
that he had just seen standing high and solid between the low field
banks. He climbed the gate, a leg on each side, to the top bar but
one; and there, easily balancing himself, he stood high above every
other object.

And he thought: "If I am to be killed, I shall be killed now. I stand
here at God's pleasure, to take me or leave me."

He carefully observed the lightning. It fell like a live shot, a
discharge of artillery aimed at a fixed point, and then bursting
seemed to go out in all directions till it faded with a widespread
glare. During this final glare after each discharge the land to its
farthest horizon leaped into view. Thus he saw all at once the Baptist
Chapel several hundred yards away, but seeming to be close ahead of
him, much bigger than it actually was, looking familiar and yet
strange--looking like the ark waiting to be floated as soon as the
deluge should begin. At the same moment he saw the stones in the road,
blades of grass at the side of the ditch, and nails on the gate-post
near his foot.

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