"Our world is not new,"said Mrs.Weguelin;and she passed into the church.
Kings Port holds many sacred nooks,many corners,many vistas,that should deeply stir the spirit and the heart of all Americans who know and love their country.The passing traveller may gaze up at certain windows there,and see History herself looking out at him,even as she looks out of the windows of Independence Hall in Philadelphia.There are also other ancient buildings in Kings Port,where History is shut up,as in a strong-box,--such as that stubborn old octagon,the powder-magazine of Revolutionary times,which is a chest holding proud memories of blood and war.And then there are the three churches.Not strong-boxes,these,but shrines,where burn the venerable lamps of faith.And of these three houses of God,that one holds the most precious flame,the purest light,which treasures the holy fire that came from France.The English colonists,who sat in the other two congregations,came to Carolina's soil to better their estate;but it was for liberty of soul,to lift their ardent and exalted prayer to God as their own conscience bade them,and not as any man dictated,that those French colonists sought the New World.No Puritan splendor of independence and indomitable courage outshines theirs.They preached a word as burning as any that Plymouth or Salem ever heard.They were but a handful,yet so fecund was their marvelous zeal that they became the spiritual leaven of their whole community.They are less known than Plymouth and Salem,because men of action,rather than men of letters,have sprung from the loins of the South;but there they stand,a beautiful beacon,shining upon the coasts of our early history.Into their church,then,into the shrine where their small lamp still burns,their devout descendant,Mrs.Weguelin St.
Michael led our party,because in her eyes Kings Port could show nothing more precious and significant.There had been nothing to warn her that Bohm and Charley were Americans who neither knew nor loved their country,but merely Americans who knew their country's wealth and loved to acquire every penny of it that they could.
And so,following the steps of our delicate and courteous guide,we entered into the dimness of the little building;and Mrs.Weguelin's voice,lowered to suit the sanctity which the place had for her,began to tell us very quietly and clearly the story of its early days.
I knew it,or something of it,from books;but from this little lady's lips it took on a charm and graciousness which made it fresh to me.Ilistened attentively,until I felt,without at first seeing the cause,that dulling of enjoyment,that interference with the receptive attention,which comes at times to one during the performance of music when untimely people come in or go out.Next,I knew that our group of listeners was less compact;and then,as we moved from the first point in the church to a new one,I saw that Bohm and Charley were dropping behind,and I lingered,with the intention of bringing them closer.
"But there was nothing in it,"I heard Charley's slow monologue continuing behind me to the silent Bohm."We could have bought the Parsons road at that time.'Gentlemen,'I said to them,'what is there for us in tide-water at Kings Port?'"It was not to be done,and I rejoined Mrs.Weguelin and those of the party who were making some show of attention to her quiet little histories and explanations;and Kitty's was the next voice which I heard ring out--"Oh,you must never let it fall to pieces!It's the cunningest little fossil I've seen in the South.""So,"said Charley behind me,"we let the other crowd buy their strategic point;and I guess they know they got a gold brick."I moved away from the financiers,I endeavored not to hear their words;and in this much I was successful;but their inappropriate presence had got,I suppose upon my nerves;at any rate,go where I would in the little church,or attend as I might and did to what Mrs.Weguelin St.
Michael said about the tablets,and whatever traditions their inscriptions suggested to her,that quiet,low,persistent banker's voice of Charley's pervaded the building like a draft of cold air.Once,indeed,he addressed Mrs.Weguelin a question.She was telling Beverly (who followed her throughout,protectingly and charmingly,with his most devoted attention and his best manner)the honorable deeds of certain older generations of a family belonging to this congregation,some of whose tombs outside had borne French inscriptions.
"My mother's family,"said Mrs.Weguelin.
"And nowadays,"inquired Beverly,"what do they find instead of military careers?""There are no more of us nowadays;they--they were killed in the war."And immediately she smiled,and with her hand she made a light gesture,as if to dismiss this subject from mutual embarrassment and pain.
"I might have known better,"murmured the understanding Beverly.
But Charley now had his question."How many,did you say?""How many?"Mrs.Weguelin did not quite understand him.
"Were killed?"explained Charley.
Again there was a little pause before Mrs.Weguelin answered,"My four brothers met their deaths."Charley was interested."And what was the percentage of fatality in their regiments?""Oh,"said Mrs.Weguelin,"we did not think of it in that way."And she turned aside.
"Charley,"said Kitty,with some precipitancy,"do make Mr.Bohm look at the church!"and she turned after Mrs.Weguelin."It is such a gem!"But I saw the little lady try to speak and fail,and then I noticed that she was leaning against a window-sill.
Beverly Rodgers also noticed this,and he hastened to her.
"Thank you,"she returned to his hasty question,"I am quite well.If you are not tired of it,shall we go on?""It is such a gem!"repeated Kitty,throwing an angry glance at Charley and Bohm.And so we went on.
