The Minister's Charge; Or, The Apprenticeship of Lemuel BarkerHowells, William Dean
General
The Minister's Charge; Or, The Apprenticeship of Lemuel Barker
Howells, William Dean
Boston (Mass.) -- Fiction; Clergy -- Fiction; Poets -- Fiction
If there was any such unkindness in Lemuel's breast toward her, it
yielded promptly to her tact. She treated him at once, not like a
servant, but like a young person, and yet she used a sort of respect for
his independence which was soothing to his rustic pride. She put it
on the money basis at once; she told him that she should give him ten
dollars a month for taking care of the furnace, keeping the sidewalk
clear of snow, shovelling the paths in the backyard for the women to
get at their clothes-lines, carrying up and down coal and ashes for the
grates, and doing errands. She said that this was what she had always
paid, and asked him if he understood and were satisfied.
Lemuel answered with one yes to both her questions, and then Miss Vane
said that of course till the weather changed they should want no fire in
the furnace, but that it might change, any day, and they should begin
at once and count October as a full month. She thought he had better go
down and look at the furnace and see if it was in order; she had had the
pipes cleaned, but perhaps it needed blacking; the cook would show him
how it worked. She went with him to the head of the basement stairs, and
calling down, “Jane, here is Lemuel, come to look after the furnace,”
left him and Jane to complete the acquaintance upon coming in sight of
each other, and went back to the minister. He had risen to go, and she
gave him her hand, while a smile rippled into laughter on her lips.
“Do you think,” she asked, struggling with her mirth to keep unheard of
those below, “that it is quite the work for a literary man?”
“If he is a man,” said Sewell courageously, “the work won't keep him
from being literary.”
Miss Vane laughed at his sudden recovery of spirit, as she had laughed
at his dejection; but he did not care. He hurried home, with a sermon
kindling in his mind so obviously, that his wife did not detain him
beyond a few vital questions, and let him escape from having foisted his
burden upon Miss Vane with the simple comment, “Well, we shall see how
that will work.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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