When Betty returned, and Donald told her the happenings of the morning, the clouds dispersed somewhat, and before long the dictum that “there is humor in all things”—even in ejection from house and home—seemed proven true. After lunch they sat in Donald’s den, and were laughingly suggesting every kind of habitat, possible and impossible, from purchasing and fitting up the iceman’s covered wagon and perambulating round the town, to taking a store and increasing their income 213 by purveying Betty’s tempting preserves and confections.

Their consultation was interrupted by the arrival of Nickey, armed with a Boy Scouts’ “Manual.”

“Gee! Mr. Maxwell: Uncle Jonathan Jackson’s all right; I’ll never do another thing to guy him. He’s loaned us his tent for our Boy Scouts’ corpse, and I’ve been studyin’ out how to pitch it proper, so I can show the kids the ropes; but––”

“Donald!” cried Betty. “The very thing—let’s camp out on the church lot.”

“By Jinks!” exclaimed Maxwell, unclerically. “We’ll have that tent up this very afternoon—if Nickey will lend it to us, second hand, and get his men together.”

Nickey flushed with delight. “You betcher life I will,” he shouted excitedly. “Is it for a revival stunt? You ’aint goin’ to live there, are you?”

“That’s just what we are going to do, if Jonathan and you’ll lend us the tent for a few months. Mr. Bascom wants to let the rectory to some other tenants, and we’ve got to find somewhere else to lay our heads. Why, it’s the very way! There’s not a thing against it, that I can see. Let’s go and see the tent, and consult Mrs. Burke. Come along, both of you.”

And off they hurried, like three children bent on a 214 new game. It was soon arranged, and Hepsey rose to the occasion with her usual vim. To her and Nickey the transportation of the tent was consigned, while Maxwell went off to purchase the necessary boarding for a floor, and Mrs. Betty returned to the rectory to pack up their belongings.

“We’ll have to occupy our new quarters to-night,” said Maxwell, “or our friend the enemy may raid the church lot in the night, and vanish with tent and all.”

An hour or so later, when Maxwell arrived at the church, clad in overalls and riding on a wagon of planks, he found Mrs. Burke and Nickey with a contingent of stalwarts awaiting him. There was a heap of canvas and some coils of rope lying on the ground near by. Hepsey greeted him with a smile from under the shade of her sun-bonnet.

“You seem ready for business, even if you don’t look a little bit like the Archbishop of Canterbury in that rig,” she remarked. “I’m afraid there’ll be an awful scandal in the parish if you go wanderin’ around dressed like a carpenter; but it can’t be helped; and if the Bishop excommunicates you, I’ll give you a job on the farm.”

“I don’t mind about the looks of it; but I suppose the vestry will have something to say about our camping on church property.” 215

“That needn’t worry you. Maybe it’ll bring ’em to their senses, and maybe, they’ll be ashamed when they see their parson driven out of his house and havin’ to live in a tent,—though I ’aint holdin’ out much hope of that, to you. Folks that are the most religious are usually the hardest to shame. I always said, financially speakin’, that preachin’ wasn’t a sound business. It’s all give and no get; but this is the first time I’ve ever heard of a parish wanting a parson to preach without eating and to sleep without a roof over his head. Most of us seem to forget that rectors are human being like the rest of us. If religion is worth havin’, it’s worth payin’ for.”

The planking was soon laid, and the erection of the tent was left to Nickey’s captaining—all hands assisting. With his manual in one hand he laid it out, rope by rope, poles in position, and each helper at his place. Then at a word, up it soared, with a “bravo” from the puzzled onlookers.

“We want a poet here,” laughed Maxwell. “Longfellow’s ‘Building of the Ship,’ or Ralph Connor’s ‘Building the Barn’ aren’t a circumstance to Nickey’s ‘Pitching the Parson’s Tent.’”

It was next divided off into three convenient rooms, for sleeping, eating and cooking—and Hepsey, with three scouts, having driven across to the old rectory 216 while the finishing touches were being put to the new, she and her military escort soon returned with Mrs. Betty, and a load of furniture and other belongings.

“Why, this is perfect!” cried Betty. “The only thing lacking to complete the illusion is a trout brook in the front yard, and the smell of pines and the damp mossy earth of the forests. We’ll wear our old clothes, and have a bonfire at night, and roast potatoes and corn in the hot coals, and have the most beautiful time imaginable.”

The town visitors who still lingered on the scene were received cordially by Maxwell and Mrs. Betty, who seemed to be in rather high spirits; but when the visitors made any inquiries concerning structural matters they were politely referred to Nickey Burke for any information they desired, as he had assumed official management of the work.

Just before the various helpers left at six o’clock, smoke began to issue from the little stove-pipe sticking out through the canvas of the rear of the tent, and Mrs. Betty, with her sleeves rolled up to her elbows and her cooking apron on, came out to watch it with all the pride of a good housekeeper.

“Isn’t it jolly, Mrs. Burke,” she exclaimed. “I was afraid that it would not draw, but it really does, you see. This will be more fun than a month at the 217 seashore; and to-morrow we are going to have you and Nickey dine with us in the tent; so don’t make any other engagement. Don’t forget.”

By noon of the following day everybody in town knew that the Maxwells had been dispossessed, and were camping on the church lot; and before night most of the women and a few of the men had called to satisfy their curiosity, and to express their sympathy with the rector and his wife, who, however, seemed to be quite comfortable and happy in their new quarters. On the other hand, some of the vestry hinted strongly that tents could not be put up on church property without their formal permission, and a few of the more pious suggested that it was little short of sacrilege thus to violate the sanctity of a consecrated place. Nickey had painted a large sign with the word Rectory on it, in truly rustic lettering, and had hung it at the entrance of the tent. The Editor of the Durford Daily Bugle appeared with the village photographer, and after an interview with Maxwell requested him and his wife to pose for a picture in front of the tent. This they declined with thanks; but a half-column article giving a sensational account of the affair appeared in the next issue of the paper, headed by a half-tone picture of the tent and the church. Public sentiment ran strongly against Bascom, 218 to whom rumor quickly awarded the onus of the incident. In reply to offers of hospitality, Maxwell and Mrs. Betty insisted that they were very comfortable for the time being, and were not going to move or make any plans for the immediate future. The morning of the fourth day, Maxwell announced to Mrs. Betty that he had a strong presentiment that Bascom would soon make another move in the game, and he was not surprised when he saw Nelson approaching.

“Thank goodness we are in the open air, this time,” Maxwell remarked to Betty as he caught sight of the visitor. “I’ll talk to him outside—and perhaps you’d better shut the door and keep out the language. I may have to express myself more forcibly than politely.”

Nelson began:

“I am sorry to have to intrude upon you again, Mr. Maxwell, but I must inform you that you will have to vacant that tent and find lodgings elsewhere.”

“Why, pray? This tent is my property for as long as I require it.”

“Ah! But you see it has been put up on the land that belongs to the church, and you have no title to use the land, you know, for private purposes.”

“Pardon me,” Maxwell replied, “but while the legal 219 title to all church property is held by the wardens and vestry collectively, the freehold use of the church building and grounds is held by the rector for the purpose of the exercise of his office as rector. No church property is injured by this tent. This lot was originally purchased for a rectory. To all intents and purposes (excuse me; I am not punning) this tent is the rectory pro tem. The use of a rectory was offered me as part of the original agreement when I accepted the call to come to this parish.”

“Hm! You speak quite as if you belonged to the legal profession yourself, Mr. Maxwell. However, I am afraid that you will have to get off the lot just the same. You must remember that I am simply carrying out Mr. Bascom’s instructions.”

“Very well; please give my compliments to Mr. Bascom and tell him that he is welcome to come here and put me out as soon as he thinks best. Moreover, you might remind him that he is not an autocrat, and that he cannot take any legal action in the matter without a formal meeting of the vestry, which I will call and at which I will preside. He can appeal to the Bishop if he sees fit.”

“Then I understand that you propose to stay where you are, in defiance of Mr. Bascom’s orders?”

“I most certainly do. It is well known that Mr. 220 Bascom has successfully intimidated every one of my predecessors; but he has met his match for once. I shall not budge from this tent until I see fit.”

“Well, I should be very sorry to see you forcibly ejected.”

“Don’t waste any sympathy on me, sir. If Mr. Bascom attempts to molest me, I shall take the matter to the courts and sue him for damages.”

“Your language is somewhat forcible, considering that you are supposed to be his pastor and spiritual advisor.”

“Very well; tell Mr. Bascom that as his spiritual advisor I strongly suggest that his spiritual condition will not be much improved by attempting to molest us here.”

“But to be perfectly frank with you, Mr. Maxwell, he can force you to leave, by stopping the payment of your salary, even if he does not eject you by force.”

“I rather think not. Until he can bring specific charges against me, he is liable for the fulfillment of our original contract, in his writing. Moreover, I may have more friends in the parish than he imagines.”

Nelson was visibly disturbed by the rector’s firm hold on the situation. 221

“But,” he stuttered, “Mr. Bascom is the richest man in the parish, and his influence is strong. You will find that everyone defers to his judgment as a matter of course.”

“All right; then let me add, for your own information, that I can earn my living honestly in this town and take care of myself without Mr. Bascom’s assistance, if necessary; and do my parish work at the same time. I have two muscular arms, and if it comes down to earning a livelihood, independent of my salary, I can work on the state road hauling stone. Williamson told me yesterday he was looking for men.”

“I can scarcely think that the parishioners would hold with their rector working like a common laborer, Mr. Maxwell,” admonished Nelson.

“We are all ‘common,’ in the right sense, Mr. Nelson. My view is that work of any kind is always honorable when necessary, except in the eyes of the ignorant. If Mr. Bascom is mortified to have me earn my living by manual labor, when he is not ashamed to repudiate a contract, and try to force me out of the parish by a process of slow starvation, his sense of fitness equals his standard of honor.”

“Well, I am sure that I do not know what I can do.”

“Do you want me to tell you?” 222

“If it will relieve your feelings,” Nelson drawled insolently.

“Then get out of this place and stay out. If you return again for any purpose whatever I am afraid it is I who will have to eject you. We will not argue the matter again.”

“Well, I regret this unfortunate encounter, and to have been forced to listen to the unguarded vituperation of my rector.” With which retort he departed.

Soon after Nelson had left, Mrs. Burke called in, and Betty gave her a highly amusing and somewhat colored version of the interview.

“You know, I think that our theological seminaries don’t teach budding parsons all they ought to, by any means,” she concluded.

“I quite agree with you, Betty dear; and I thank my stars for college athletics,” laughed Maxwell, squaring up to the tent-pole.

“What did I tell you,” reminded Hepsey, “when you had all those books up in your room at my place. It’s just as important for a country parson to know how to make a wiped-joint or run a chicken farm or pull teeth, as it is to study church history and theology. A parson’s got to live somehow, and a trade school ought to be attached to every seminary, according to my way of thinking! St. Paul made tents, 223 and wasn’t a bit ashamed of it. Well I’m mighty glad that Bascom has got come up with for once. Don’t you give in, and it will be my turn to make the next move, if this don’t bring him to his senses. You just wait and see.”