ELIZABETH GRINNELL
 
 
 n. Label B.WinsIow 
 718 Arroyo Drive, 
 Pasadena, Calif. 
 
 ^?^xt . fU^&L 
 
 f.&.
 
 John and I and the Church. 
 
 OF CAIIF. LIBRARY, LOS AKGELES
 
 WHEN HE ROSE TO SPEAK HE WAVED HIS HANDKERCHIEF.
 
 John and I and the Church 
 
 BY 
 
 Elizabeth Grinnell 
 
 AUTHOR OF " HOW JOHN AND 1 BROUGHT UP THE CHILD" 
 
 Who builds a church to God, and not to fame, 
 Will never mark the marblt with his name 
 
 POPE, EPISTLE III, LINE 28 
 
 Illustrated 
 
 New York Chicago Toronto 
 
 Fleming H. Revell Company 
 
 mdcccxcvii
 
 COPYRIGHT 
 
 FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY 
 1897
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER rAGK 
 
 I THE CHURCH OUTGROWS JOHN . . 7 
 II THE CHURCH HAS A BOOM ... 15 
 
 III THE CHURCH GIVES us A POUND PARTY 
 
 AND A MISSIONARY Box ... 22 
 
 IV JOHN'S VIEWS OF CHURCH DEBT . . 30 
 V THE PEW-SYSTEM AS IT WAS WORKED 
 
 IN OUR CHURCH 36 
 
 VI PARTING SCENES 41 
 
 VII JOHN'S FAREWELL SERMON ... 47 
 
 VIII JOHN FINDS A NEW FIELD 55 
 
 IX AT SUNRISE PARK 64 
 
 X A CHURCH RECEPTION .... 70 
 
 XI WE RECEIVE CALLS 78 
 
 XII I BEGIN TO LOOK LIKE A MINISTER'S 
 
 WIFE 84 
 
 XIII MY NEIGHBORS STOP BORROWING . . 92 
 
 XIV ABIJAH NOSEWORTHY'S WILD OATS . 97 
 XV SILAS COOMBS AND DEATH-BED SCENES 103 
 
 XVI THE CHURCH HAS A REVIVAL . .in 
 
 XVII CHURCH GOSSIP 122 
 
 XVIII AT THE WOMEN'S MEETING . . .128 
 
 XIX WAS IT A FOUNDLING? . . . .140 
 
 XX JOHN DID NOT Kiss MRS. BLACK'S LIT- 
 TLE GIRL 150 
 
 XXI A PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE . . .156 
 
 XXII I ATTEND SOME OTHER CHURCHES . 166 
 
 XXIII ELECTION AND REPROBATION . . .173 
 
 XXIV THE TUTTLE FAMILY . . . .178 
 XXV COMPANY TO DINNER 188 
 
 XXVI EARTH TO EARTH, ASHES TO ASHES, DUST 
 TO DUST, IN SURE AND CERTAIN HOPE 
 OF THE RESURRECTION ... 196 
 
 2129920
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 HE COULD ALMOST WISH THE LITTLE FLOCK 
 HAD NEVER OUTGROWN THE DRUG-STORE 
 HALL 9 
 
 I LAID THE THINGS ALL OUT IN ARRAY ON THE 
 
 PARLOR SOFA 28 
 
 CHURCH-DEBT COMMITTEES CALL ... 34 
 
 MRS. JONES SHOWS HER PERTURBATION . . 38 
 
 CONVERSING AWHILE WITH His NEW CONSTIT- 
 UENCY 73 
 
 MOTHER WANTS TO BORROW SOME OF THE 
 
 MORNING'S MILK 82 
 
 WHEN HE ROSE TO SPEAK, HE WAVED His 
 
 HANDKERCHIEF 98 
 
 JOHN HELD THE LIGHT WHILE FRANK OVER- 
 MAN WENT OVER THE RIVER . . .no 
 
 IT WAS AS IF HE WERE "TAKING STOCK" . 115 
 
 TELLING THE CHILDREN STORIES WHILE SHE 
 CLEANED THEM UP AND MADE MRS. TUT- 
 TLE COMFORTABLE 184
 
 CHAPTER I 
 The Church Outgrows John 
 
 The little church at Hope Valley Corners out- 
 grew John. It had been John's first charge. 
 In fact there was no church at all in Hope Val- 
 ley when John preached his first sermon in the 
 little hall, 15x20, above the one drug store in the 
 village. 
 
 John was not a " fledgling," so to speak, when 
 he commenced his ministry. He had passed 
 early youth before he had ever announced a 
 text, or attempted to preach, save as he held an 
 occasional service in the schoolhouse. He often 
 declared that he was not prepared to " take a 
 charge " until he had spent some years in obser- 
 vation; although he was urged to do so before 
 the ink of his graduating thesis was dry, or 
 he had learned that sympathy is born of experi- 
 ence. He firmly declined, preferring to " teach 
 school," he said, " until I have become intimate 
 with human nature and its common needs." He 
 often says to me that "with the tearing down of 
 the little country schoolhouse is passing away 
 the best opportunity of developing the percep- 
 tions of doctor, lawyer, or minister." 
 
 7
 
 The Church Outgrows John 
 
 When he went to preach in Hope Valley there 
 was little salary attached to the " call." Enough, 
 however, for us two and the baby to live upon 
 as comfortably as the majority of people about 
 us. To be sure there were a few who were " well 
 to do," living in houses rather pretentious, and 
 dressing expensively. One or two of these fa- 
 vored of fortune belonged to our church, or rather 
 to the little hall above the drug store. 
 
 It was not long before the small room was 
 crowded. More chairs were brought not bought. 
 There was little to contribute to the church save 
 chairs and a few lamps. Rents were low and so 
 was the minister's pay. As to the chairs being 
 brought, John often says that he wishes large 
 churches were furnished in that way. There is a 
 personal satisfaction in providing seats for 
 strangers, just as you would draw the chairs up 
 to the fire in your own house and bid anyone 
 who happened to drop in "feel at home." Of 
 course, in general church expenses the seating 
 usually comes in, but we miss the satisfaction of 
 a personal interest in those who occupy the 
 pews. One cannot look about and say to him- 
 self, " I am glad I brought that chair, for there is 
 Mr. Brotherly-love, or Mr. Timorous sitting in it. 
 I believe I shall bring another." 
 
 In less than a year there was not even stand- 
 ing-room around John. The congregation sat 
 8
 
 HE COULD ALMOST WISH THE LITTLE FLOCK HAD 
 NEVER OUTGROWN THE DRUG-STORE HALL.
 
 The Church Outgrows John 
 
 or stood so close to him that, undemonstrative 
 as he was, he could not point in the direction of 
 Jerusalem, nor pronounce the benediction with- 
 out touching the heads of those about him. He 
 has often remarked to me that " hearts were near, 
 as well," and he could almost wish that, for its 
 own sake, the little flock had never outgrown 
 the small dimensions of the drug-store hall. Fill 
 the small " upper rooms," a score of them, rather 
 than crowd into one large house. It is easier to 
 "continue with one accord" in such places; 
 there is less danger of rivalry and worldliness 
 and unsympathy. Where a congregation touches 
 elbows in a Sabbath service, heart more easily 
 meets heart; hence, more love. 
 
 John was intimate with every one of his flock, 
 and with a great many who were not of his 
 flock. He was genial, persuasive, and free in 
 manner. He did not wear a "ministerial moral 
 garb." The young folks did not stop laughing 
 when they saw him coming, nor did their elders 
 drop business perplexities and assume a spirit- 
 ual air. He was plain=spoken ; calm, though em- 
 phatic in delivery. 
 
 And he was extremely simple, if to be simple 
 is to be understood. He never reverted to the 
 " Hebrew text," nor to the " Greek translation." 
 He was preaching, he said, " to a common people 
 who read a common Bible ; and he would not re- 
 9
 
 The Church Outgrows John 
 
 fer to a possible mistake in that Bible, lest a 
 doubt in the validity of one passage might father 
 doubts in the whole. There are plenty of texts," 
 he said, " which need no display of my small 
 knowledge of Greek and Hebrew, and from these 
 I can feed the flock. Many a man has been 
 taught his first lessons in skepticism from the 
 pulpit." 
 
 When the time came that the little hall could 
 hold no more, and others were waiting outside, the 
 question of a new building was discussed. John 
 suggested that services might be held in some of 
 the schoolhouses, and mentioned the names of 
 several ministers who could preach in them. 
 But our people had set their hearts on a new 
 church, and it did not take long to raise a thou- 
 sand dollars to build one. It was paid for when 
 it was completed, and not left to be paid for 
 after it was finished. It would hold two hun- 
 dred, and there was some chair^room besides. 
 It was comfortably furnished with a plain carpet 
 and cushioned seats, a sweefc toned organ, and 
 had a vestry for the use of the Sunday=school. 
 The ceiling was dome^shaped and finished in 
 natural wood. There is a suggestion of the sky, 
 or of heaven itself in a dome, that is impossible in 
 a square ceiling, or even in one of frescoed cor- 
 ners and pinnacles a hint that boundary lines 
 are far distant; a possibility of stars somewhere. 
 10
 
 The Church Outgrows John 
 
 The modest belfry was just high enough to 
 accommodate a clear-voiced bell, the gift of a 
 bereaved wife whose husband had sung in the 
 choir. " The bell should ring," she said, " in 
 place of the voice that was silent." The whole 
 edifice was a model of neatness and consistency. 
 John's salary was raised a trifle to correspond 
 with his increased duties, for the work widened 
 with more membership. 
 
 It was the first time in our married life when 
 we could lay up a small sum as we went along. 
 John was "very thankful for it all," he said. 
 John always gave his first thought to his fam- 
 ily. That seems a strange thing to say of a 
 minister. John had no desire to amass wealth 
 nor to make his calling a stepladder to riches, 
 but he says that "any man, a minister not ex- 
 cepted, who provides not for his own house, has 
 denied the faith and is worse, in this respect, 
 than an infidel." 
 
 " A man should honor God by honoring his 
 family, God's best gift to any man." 
 
 " Why, John," I would say, " does it not read, 
 ' Seek ye first the kingdom of God and all these 
 things shall be added?' Of course we are to 
 infer from this that a Christian believer, espe- 
 cially a minister, ought not to think anything 
 about the needs of to-morrow, but be all the time 
 seeking the kingdom. If he is poor, or even in 
 11
 
 The Church Outgrows John 
 
 distress, it is a sign that he has been very faith- 
 ful." 
 
 John smiled and kissed the baby just as if I 
 had made no remark at all. Then he spoke, as 
 if to the little one: "We have sought the king- 
 dom, my child, and if God does not keep His 
 word by adding these things, the fault must be 
 our own. God is faithful; we must be faithful 
 as well, nor stand in the way of His fulfilling 
 His part of the contract. He does not say that 
 in spite of our carelessness or thriftlessness or 
 waste or even the misconception of His Word 
 ' all these things shall be added.' ' He knoweth 
 that ye have need of these things,' home and 
 clothes and education and means of culture and 
 gold wherewith to help them who have not yet 
 sought the kingdom. Of more value is the 
 kingdom than all these things; but when once 
 it is found, why go on seeking it instead of 
 making ourselves fit subjects for that king- 
 dom?" 
 
 " Yes, but John," I said, " what does it say 
 about the lilies and the birds being clothed and 
 fed? I was taught that we must be like them 
 and take no thought; that certainly is what the 
 Bible says." 
 
 " It is the ' thought,' the fretting, the borrow- 
 ing trouble, the useless presentiments of pover- 
 ty, that the Lord would have us avoid. There 
 12
 
 The Church Outgrows John 
 
 are the pinching and the saving, the depriving 
 of oneself and family of the comforts of to= 
 day, in order to save a greater sum for to-mor- 
 row. It is the dread of the poorhouse which 
 haunts some men in the face of affluence. Are 
 ye not better than the birds and lilies? Have 
 ye not perception and ability and judgment 
 and thrift and energy and trust in God? If 
 He clothe them who have no storehouses or 
 barns will He not fill our granaries? I believe 
 it is not the Father's will that there be a pauper 
 in the Christian church. The cattle upon a thou- 
 sand hills are His; let the church see to it that 
 the markets are also His." 
 
 The little new church thrived. There were no 
 poor among its members. By " poor " I mean 
 there were no collections taken up for anybody. 
 "Love is the fulfilling of the law," John 
 preached. " If we keep love, we keep the law, 
 and vice versa. By keeping love we keep fel- 
 lowship, and fellowship is what is needed in the 
 church more than anything else. Do good un- 
 to all men, especially to them of the household 
 of faith. This is the principle of all the frater- 
 nal orders. Secret societies, as a rule, embody 
 this principle, and they have stolen it from the 
 church who has herself neglected the command. 
 If church members could find in the church 
 that fraternity, aid, fellowship, which are offered 
 
 13
 
 The Church Outgrows John 
 
 and obtained elsewhere, there would cease to 
 be heard the lament that Christain men seek 
 the secret order. The church needs a 'grip' 
 of her own. Give it to the unfortunate; to the 
 man who has failed; to him who, for some unac- 
 countable reason, is no manager, a poor provid- 
 er. Give it to the backslider, to the successful 
 man, to the rich, and to the poor. If there is a 
 blacksmith in the church, take your horses to 
 his shop to be shod. The shoes will last as 
 long as if put on by some one outside the 
 church. If there is a church member who is a 
 grocer, buy your tea and flour of him, and your 
 clothes of his cousin, the merchant. If you 
 have a doctor or a lawyer who stands well in his 
 profession, give him no time to practice outside 
 the church. If you need a house-girl, or a field* 
 hand, make your selection from the church. 
 And the church will see to it that its members 
 'take no thought for to-morrow.' When the 
 church becomes a fraternal order and more 
 than this, an insurance company individual 
 members will have as little anxiety about the 
 future as the birds and the lilies have." 
 
 Yes, indeed, the little church thrived, as I 
 said. But there came a change. If there had 
 not, then I should never have written this story.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 The Church has a Boom 
 
 Yes, our little church had a boom. It was 
 like a devastating cyclone, sweeping away fel- 
 lowship and humility and peace and content. 
 Hope Valley Corners changed its name to New 
 Rome City and a city it became in a flash. In 
 less than a year after the first corner4ot was 
 sold for a fabulous sum, there were built grand 
 churches and residences and magnificent halls. 
 Architecture became the mania. Our little 
 meeting-house was moved from the old site to 
 the outer circumference of the city. The lot 
 upon which it had stood was wanted by the 
 owner for a bank ; and besides, the house itself 
 was not suitable from the standpoint of boom 
 times. Not but that it was large enough, but it 
 had " no style." 
 
 Several of our church members became sud- 
 denly rich or were considered so, which is about 
 the same thing and it dawned upon our people 
 that we must have a new building. 
 
 John suggested that we build a sort of taber- 
 nacle, or people's church a "God's House," 
 which should stand for no particular creed; a 
 
 15 .
 
 The Church has a Boom 
 
 landmark on the road to heaven. It was John's 
 dream to do away with creed and sect. But our 
 people were suddenly bent upon an edifice of 
 denominational caste; nothing else would satisfy 
 them. They were also determined to rival their 
 fellow churches not in goodness and meekness 
 and love and helpfulness and the other spirit- 
 ual graces, but in the splendor of their sanctuary. 
 
 "Oh, the hollownessof it all," John said, " the 
 worldliness; the church making of herself a side= 
 show in Vanity Fair!" The true house is within 
 us; architecture cannot wall it in, nor masonry 
 deceive as to the true character of it. 
 
 When the committee canvassed the flock for 
 funds, the ready cash fell far short of the esti- 
 mated cost. There were " subscriptions," how- 
 ever, dependent upon sales, and pocketf uls upon 
 pocketfuls of promises. John warned the com- 
 mittee, lovingly at first; firmly, and fairly pro- 
 testing, at last, but to no avail. There were 
 some that stood with him, but the majority ruled 
 in the matter, and the new church was con- 
 tracted for. In the end it was twenty thousand 
 dollars in debt. 
 
 What a change came over the members, or the 
 most of them! They kept up the show of wor- 
 ship, but the spirit of it was not there. 
 
 In the strife for wealth consequent upon the 
 boom, brother deceived brother, and each sought 
 16
 
 The Church has a Boom 
 
 to outwit the other in bargain and sale. To get 
 the best in a business transaction, in short, to 
 defraud, was a common thing. But these men 
 went to church and sat upon their unpaid-for 
 velvet cushions and sang and joined in the 
 Lord's Prayer and oh, for the shame of it! they 
 even took the bread and wine. Judas, one out 
 of twelve, betrayed the Lord with a kiss there 
 was scarcely one out of twelve in our church 
 who did not put his lips to the sacrament, go 
 out among his fellows, and deny his Lord! 
 
 To keep up appearances, John's salary was 
 raised to double what it had been. But when 
 it came to the quarterly payment it actually fell 
 far short of the old stipend. The amount stip- 
 ulated was published, however, in true boom 
 style; and John, like a corner4ot, was rated at 
 a fictitious value. Other churches paid high 
 salaries, or published high salaries, and ours 
 was not to be outdone. 
 
 As I said in the first place, the church out- 
 grew John. And yet everybody loved John. 
 He preached the same simple, plain sermons 
 which he had always preached. Coming from 
 anybody but John they would not have been 
 tolerated. Nothing else was expected from him; 
 he was too sincere to be, or seem other than 
 he was. Yet we could see that he did not always 
 please. 
 
 17
 
 The Church has a Boom 
 
 A good many rich people joined the church, 
 by letter and otherwise, naturally enough; it 
 was so much more stylish than any of the 
 others. Some of the more common members, 
 who did not care for style, quietly withdrew to 
 smaller churches. I do not mean to say that 
 rich men, as we found them, were always hollow 
 and artificial when it came to actual facts. But 
 wealth, as a rule, does seek its kind; hence we 
 find caste. I have noticed that the little plain 
 churches are filled with little plain people, for 
 no other reason, perhaps, than that little fish are 
 in little pools; they feel more at home. It is as 
 much caste on the part of the poor as on the 
 part of the rich. They will separate, these on 
 this side and those on that. I wish it were not 
 so, and yet I see no way of changing the order, 
 save to adopt a church garb or uniform. I 
 think dress does more than anything else to 
 separate the rich from the poor in the house of 
 God. 
 
 After a while, "owing to circumstances over 
 which we had no control," we were actually in 
 need of the necessaries of life, though we did 
 not mention it. Little by little we used our 
 savings which we had laid by when John 
 preached in the old church before the boom. 
 We felt sorry, but John felt sorrier for his peo- 
 ple. They had a great burden to bear. They 
 
 18
 
 The Church has a Boom 
 
 must keep up appearances in the new church. 
 The interest on the debt was high, and there 
 were improvements constantly to be made. 
 Subscribers to the cost of it all moved away, or 
 for other reasons failed to keep their word. 
 
 I had one consolation in our trouble, for, as I 
 said, "everybody loved John." I believed that 
 it was only from necessity that they failed to 
 pay him, or hinted that he could not be retained 
 another year. This is what they said, and why 
 should I doubt their word, especially when they 
 prefaced their tears by assuring me how much 
 they "loved John?" "The necessities of the 
 case," they said, " the necessities of the case de- 
 mand a change." 
 
 In some vague way I was impressed with 
 their sincerity, and I wish I had never come to 
 disbelieve them. 
 
 After a while we came to understand. The 
 church wanted a preacher with a "record" be- 
 hind him like a trotting-horse or a fast=time 
 engine. One who had shone in New York or 
 London or Chicago, as pastor of some " tony " 
 church; one who would "cover a multitude of 
 sins," especially such trifling sins as beset our 
 church. They wanted a minister whose dis- 
 courses would be flowery and sparkling with 
 imagination; who would choose a text occasion- 
 ally from somewhere outside of the Bible, and 
 19
 
 The Church has a Boom 
 
 also indulge in " lovely quotations from the 
 poets." 
 
 Now John quoted poetry, but his was not the 
 sort to please under the circumstances. Taste, 
 in our church, had become suddenly esthetic. 
 Then, too, our people thought that a minister 
 who had traveled would be "drawing." Lec- 
 tures on foreign lands and customs are so " tak- 
 ing " on Sunday evenings, especially in a popu- 
 lar church. They could postpone the saving of 
 the world and the new birth of individuals un- 
 til the church debt was paid. 
 
 Pending a call to someone else, John 
 preached on, and it was not known outside that 
 it was his last year. That last year was a hard 
 one for us. The sense of being wronged by 
 brethren; indignation at insults degrading to 
 us and to the name of religion; the acceptance 
 of charity in the place of justice, and alms in 
 lieu of our rights all this made me, at least, 
 dissatisfied. 
 
 I would have had John leave at once and let 
 the church " hoe its own row," but John said, 
 " No." He would stay as long as they wanted 
 him, and he might keep them from greater mis- 
 takes. The Spirit of the Master was more at 
 home with John than with me. 
 
 Besides all this moral burden our physical 
 want was fast bordering on distress. This was 
 
 20
 
 The Church has a Boom 
 
 soon known to enough of our friends if they 
 had but felt the exigencies of it. It is hard to 
 excuse this lack of justice on the part of our 
 church. A boom in any church or city destroys 
 moral susceptibilities. Demands having legal 
 claims behind them are considered first. Such 
 demands were many and pressing in our town 
 and on our people. They did not mean to rob 
 John, nor to use for other purposes the money 
 that was his. They forgot their contract with 
 him and, had they stopped to think, they would 
 have known he would not press his claim in 
 law. He was at their mercy. " Personal busi- 
 ness cares and church liabilities" were their ex- 
 cuses, though no excuse was made to John. 
 The subject was avoided. 
 
 21
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 The Church Gives Us a Pound 
 Party and a Missionary Box 
 
 Some trifling incidents, by way of doubt- 
 ful apology, occurred about this time, which did 
 not mend matters a great deal. The members 
 strove hard, in their way, to keep up a show of 
 good feeling. They attempted to smooth the 
 irregularities of the way by methods well known 
 to the church at large. For instance, one even- 
 ing, without previous announcement to us, they 
 came to our house in a body, cheerful to hilar- 
 ity. They constituted what is termed a "pound 
 party" and spent the evening in forced good 
 nature. They brought flour, and bacon, and 
 sugar, and dried apples, and potatoes, and tea, 
 and canned salmon, and pickles, and yeast, and 
 bologna sausage, and cheese, and bread, and pie, 
 and cake. Just as relief committees carry bas- 
 kets of supplies to the destitute. 
 
 Now we were well-nigh destitute, to be sure, 
 but that was the fault of these very people. 
 They owed John, and they took this way of pay- 
 ing the debt. It was like saying, " God bless 
 23
 
 A Pound Party 
 
 you," to one's grocer and butcher and hired 
 girl, and expecting them to smile and take the 
 will for the deed, and so consider the account 
 square. 
 
 John and I tried to be hospitable and to join 
 in the merrymaking, but we were too much 
 taken by surprise to act our part to perfection. 
 I suppose we were considered ungrateful. Evi- 
 dently John was expected to make sweet and 
 witty speeches over the packages and bags of 
 provisions, but if he had such a thought as to 
 say, " For what we receive make us truly thank- 
 ful," he broke down before he began. We 
 would so much rather have had the money 
 which the things cost in the first place, little as 
 it was. 
 
 It had now been five months since John had 
 received a dollar. I was overworked with such 
 duties as I had hired done before, and there 
 were two babies blessed babies ! to nurse. I do 
 not know that I ever saw John really indignant 
 but once that year, and that was not personal 
 resentment, I am sure, but abhorrence of the 
 principle. He overheard a remark which one 
 lady made to another, signifying that " ministers 
 owe it to their churches to have small families." 
 
 John preached a sermon the following Sunday 
 on the text, " Lo, children are a heritage of the 
 Lord, and the fruit of the womb is his reward."
 
 A Pound Party 
 
 He dwelt particularly upon the word " herit- 
 age " as meaning " an estate bequeathed, real 
 property, or personal ownership of what is valu- 
 able." " Ill-health, lonely and childless old age, 
 remorse, the sting of memory, the sharp re- 
 proach of a thousand things, all combine to 
 form a heritage such as, though terrible, is en- 
 tailed upon modern regulators of families." 
 
 It was one of his plainest sermons, striking at 
 the root of domestic evils, and laying bare the 
 sins of parental responsibility, until those of his 
 hearers whose faces did not burn, turned pale 
 with an unwonted sense of guilt: "Woman has 
 been the cause of her own misery ever since 
 Eve transgressed. Some men call the story of 
 Eden a myth. Be that as it may, woman's own 
 hand has pressed to her lips the bitter fruit of 
 all ages, although she still has little excuse and 
 lays the fault to her ' constitution ' or to her 
 'sphere,' as Eve laid it to the serpent. She 
 plots and conspires against human life in the 
 days of her youth, and when age and sorrow 
 whiten her hair she weeps that the cell of the 
 murderer is never empty. She herself built the 
 scaffold for her posterity while they were yet un- 
 born, and she is chilled to the heart at last by 
 her own deeds." John said to me afterward 
 that that sermon had been on his mind for a 
 24
 
 A Pound Party 
 
 long while, and that the feeling of years had 
 found expression. 
 
 " But John," I said, " I am afraid you were too 
 plain, especially as there were a good many 
 really delicate ladies present who looked hurt 
 and shocked at what you said. Society de- 
 mands reticence upon certain points, and you 
 know, John, one should not offend real refine- 
 ment." 
 
 John made me no reply, and I did not know 
 until years afterward that it was one of those 
 same " delicate ladies " to whom I had referred 
 who had made the remark, in John's hearing, 
 that " ministers owe it to their churches to have 
 small families." 
 
 It was not long after the " pound party " that 
 a box was left at our door directed to John, 
 " freight payable on delivery." We managed to 
 pay the bill by borrowing from the children's 
 little tin banks, we not being flush of money, 
 and we wondered what it could be that was in 
 the box. 
 
 We opened it, breathless, thinking of far- 
 away friends to whom we had no reason to look 
 for gifts. It would take a good while for me to 
 run through with the list. It was a collection 
 of secondhand raiment solicited for destitute 
 ministers and retired missionaries. How it 
 
 25
 
 A Pound Party 
 
 came to be sent to us we never knew, but prob- 
 ably it, like the pound party, came of good in- 
 tentions. 
 
 There were shirts and hose for John, worn 
 thin and needing repairs. There was an over- 
 coat, which might have come over with the Pil- 
 grim Fathers, so antiquated and threadbare it 
 was; besides, it was made to fit a man twice 
 John's size. Then there were some old dresses 
 with the buttons and trimmings ripped off; some 
 white cotton skirts with ragged lace on the bot- 
 tom, and two old bonnets; some gloves with 
 the fingers cut off, suggesting " mitts," and a par- 
 asol. There were some frayed old blankets, too, 
 through whose thin middle I could distinctly 
 see John's face as I held them up before him 
 and the window. 
 
 We had endured much, but this swelled the 
 torrent of my feelings beyond high=water mark. 
 The stream gushed with the impetus of a tide 
 in springtime when the snow is melting, and I 
 did not even try to control the flood. 
 
 To stand by and see John insulted like this! 
 John, who was the height of a man above every 
 other man in the community in what best 
 makes a man! John, who could have com- 
 manded thousands in either of the professions, 
 but who chose to preach the Gospel as the best 
 means of restoring a sick world! all this for a 
 36
 
 A Pound Party 
 
 sum that at its best only meant comfortable 
 support. Oh, I was indignant! 
 
 " What are ministers made of," I exclaimed, 
 " that they and their families should be insulted 
 in this way? Ministers who are earning an 
 honest living if the church itself, clothed in 
 scarlet and fine linen, would but pay its debts! 
 Ministers whose sense of personal independence 
 is as natural and therefore as right as that of 
 any other man! Who ever thinks of meeting 
 his obligations at the bank with old clothes? 
 Who pays his lawyer's fees with secondhand 
 coats and stockings, and who meets his grocers' 
 claims with pound parties? Who but a minis- 
 ter would see his wife rigged out in other 
 women's finery?" Thus I went on until I was 
 ashamed of my temper, and John said I 
 " mustn't scold." 
 
 He took up the babies, one on either shoul- 
 der, and marched around the room singing 
 "Old Hundred" as only John can sing it. 
 After a while I laughed as heartily as I had 
 scolded and John joined in, the whole thing 
 was so ludicrous. 
 
 John says " when a man laughs at trouble .the 
 trouble laughs too and turns into a sprite to fly 
 away." I would have had John wear the Pil- 
 grim Father overcoat to church, but he 
 wouldn't. I did what was almost as bad, though, 
 
 27
 
 A Pound Party 
 
 and John didn't object. I laid the things all 
 out in array on the parlor sofa and showed them 
 to everybody that came in, saying: " See what a 
 present came to us the other day !" It was won- 
 derful, the amount of good healthy color that 
 found its way into the cheeks of my callers. 
 And I was as unconscious of their embarrass- 
 ment as could be, of course; indeed, I was never 
 in better spirits. John said the affair was 
 worth what it cost for its effect upon me. It 
 was like some unpalatable medicine toning me 
 up after a year's moral illness. 
 
 It was not long afterward that we read in 
 the daily paper a paragraph something like this: 
 " It is with profound regret that we learn of the 
 
 resignation of the Rev. John , pastor 
 
 of the First Street Church, New Rome City. 
 He has served that body for five years, during 
 which time he has given entire satisfaction. 
 He leaves a salary of two thousand dollars and 
 a warm-hearted people. Failing health is the 
 cause of his resignation." 
 
 John and I looked at each other in conster- 
 nation. John's health was perfect. He had 
 never had " a sick day in his life," as the say- 
 ing is. And John never " resigned." Why 
 this story was ever concocted I leave it with 
 the officers of the First Street Church to ex- 
 
 28
 
 I LAID THE THINGS ALL OUT IN ARRAY ON THE 
 PARLOR SOFA.
 
 A Pound Party 
 
 plain. Was it for John's sake or their own 
 that they covered the real truth? 
 
 John was astonished. He did not say a word, 
 but I knew he was thinking of the church. 
 Visions of the old days in Hope Valley came to 
 him, when the congregation touched elbows 
 and hearts in the little drug-store hall. He 
 would have helped his people over this last hill, 
 Difficulty, though his own feet were torn in the 
 ascent. 
 
 29
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 John's Views of Church Debt 
 
 As the time drew near when John must 
 preach his farewell sermon, I felt bad. I didn't 
 let John know it, though. I would not add a 
 crushed straw to his heavy load. John himself 
 was not sad that is, not gloomy. He has 
 always said that no personal trial, save death 
 and sin, ought to make a Christian sad not 
 even the loss of all his property. 
 
 I often told him that " the natural tempera- 
 ment has everything to do with it." 
 
 " Not everything," he would answer. " Man 
 is born ignorant and helpless. Knowledge and 
 self -reliance are foreign to the child and must 
 be grafted upon him. Cheerfulness should be 
 grafted into him also, and serenity. The more 
 faith grows, the more ought good cheer to 
 grow. Peace is only another word for happi- 
 ness." 
 
 One of John's favorite quotations is this: 
 " Wisdom's ways are ways of pleasantness." 
 He says: " The more wisdom, the more pleasant- 
 ness, but men neglect the one in striving for 
 the other; growing morose and unsociable and 
 
 30
 
 John's Views of Church Debt 
 
 self-absorbed in the determination to be wise, 
 forgetting that real wisdom only travels in 
 pleasant ways." 
 
 St. Paul said of his church: "I know that 
 after my departing shall grievous wolves enter 
 in among you not sparing the flock." In the 
 case of our church the "grievous wolves" had 
 already entered. Looking back over it all now, 
 I can see how gradually they had crept in, 
 stealthily creeping through the openings in the 
 wall, slily finding a way through the partly 
 open gate, making no disturbance, and attack- 
 ing no one in the guise of a wolf. 
 
 Greed was the first to enter. Its coming was 
 so sudden that it was running all around among 
 the flock before the sheep recognized it. In a 
 short while it had grown so familiar, and 
 seemed so gentle, that the sheep ceased to flee 
 from it, but allowed it to feed in the very best 
 part of the pasture. The Lord knew human 
 nature best when He said: " It is easier for a 
 camel to go through the eye of a needle than 
 for a rich man to enter into the kingdom." 
 Rich men, like the camel, have a hump on the 
 back, and they must stoop low or graze the 
 hump. Unlike the camel, however, the rich 
 man is not used to stooping; he will enter up- 
 right, grasping his hump with both hands and 
 never letting go, unless perchance some fellow* 
 
 31
 
 John's Views of Church Debt 
 
 traveler, forcing his way amid the throng, 
 knocks it off. The trouble is not with the 
 hump. The camel goes in before the rich man 
 because he kneels. 
 
 In the church are men who seek for riches 
 day and night; men upon whom riches are 
 thrust by inheritance, or by sudden rise in 
 values, and men who imagine they have riches. 
 These last are the worst in church or state, for, 
 counting on what they expect, they multiply 
 what they do possess beyond reason. They 
 build mansions, paying for them in promises at 
 a rate of interest as enormous as the promises; 
 and, to be consistent, they build churches as 
 luxurious as their homes, paying for them also 
 in promises. Then " My Father's House is a 
 house of merchandise," indeed. In it the white 
 doves of peace and brotherly love are sold for 
 a farthing's worth of pretension. 
 
 John said that in those years he had had his 
 first experience in church debt, and he would 
 never have a second. " Debt," he said, " is a 
 millstone around the neck of the church and 
 of every individual member, though, sooner or 
 later, by dint of hard struggles, they nearly al- 
 ways emerge and limp disabled up the bank, 
 dripping with the tide of jealousy and discon- 
 tent." 
 
 There are men, usually worn-out ministers, 
 
 82
 
 John's Views of Church Debt 
 
 whose one talent lies in paying off church 
 debts. They are sent for far and near like a 
 quack doctor, and they hold meetings and give 
 "chalk talks" and emblazon blackboards with 
 figures, doing sums for pupils already far ad- 
 vanced in " partial payments." There is never 
 a word said about the calamity of church debt 
 The speaker smiles perpetually, and before they 
 know it all his auditors are smiling. Four 
 per cent, of the debt is wiped out in an hour 
 and the " talented man" hies him to other fields 
 to smile again. 
 
 He ought to weep. If he would but give his 
 attention to warding off church debts instead of 
 paying them off he would do the kingdom of 
 God a greater favor. " Owe no man anything 
 but to love one another." What a preface to 
 church creeds this would be! 
 
 Once in debt, a church is never on the old 
 footing. There are bitter losses to bear, for- 
 tunes of good feeling squandered in a day, and 
 good feeling is scarcer and more precious than 
 gold. 
 
 Each thinks his church^fellow should pay 
 more than he does. Another murmurs because 
 in his stress of circumstances he is forced or 
 expected to pay anything. Yet another abso- 
 lutely refuses to pay any part of a debt which 
 he had " no hand in contracting." 
 S3
 
 John's Views of Church Debt 
 
 "Church^debt committees" call at irregular 
 times upon the members to urge the payment of 
 a sum "to meet at least the interest on the debt." 
 Usually the members of the committee are rich, 
 but they are loath to meet more than they can 
 possibly help of the obligation. " Besides," they 
 argue, " it is right for each and all to bear a part." 
 They drive up to the door of the delinquent 
 member, shake hands stiffly, smile sadly, in- 
 quire after the family with enforced interest, say 
 something as to the weather or town prospects, 
 and hesitate a good while before getting at the 
 business in hand. 
 
 The host knows by intuition the errand of 
 his visitor and helps him not out of his em- 
 barrassment by so much as a distant allusion to 
 the subject in both minds. Does he not know 
 that he would never have received a call from 
 his church brother but for the fact that the 
 brother wants gold? When, at length, the sub- 
 ject is approached, and the brother called upon 
 yields his pittance, there is no fellow- feeling, 
 unless it be one of hardness. The committee- 
 man thinks that the amount given should have 
 exceeded the actual gift, and the other wishes 
 he "hadn't given anything." So do " grievous 
 wolves " spoil the flock. 
 
 Oh, John and I grew intimate with the whole 
 aspect of church debt during those years, and 
 34
 
 CHURCH-DEBT COMMITTEE'S CALL
 
 John's Views of Church Debt 
 
 John declared he would never preach for a con- 
 gregation that assumed such a burden. He 
 used to say that " if all ministers would bind 
 themselves to such a resolve, church debt would 
 soon be a feature of the dark ages in church 
 history." 
 
 85
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 The Pew System as it was Worked 
 in Our Church 
 
 I think that of all the sad consequences of 
 church debt, that was the saddest which com- 
 pelled the pew system. It was so hard to make 
 collections that the officers declared themselves 
 in favor of renting the pews. John pleaded 
 with them to no avail. Once made desperate 
 by church debt, everything was subservient to 
 its demands. So the pews were sold. 
 
 There was not any church auction proper, 
 but the pews were sold to the highest bidder in 
 a quiet way. An imaginary line was drawn 
 around the auditorium. In this circle pews 
 were worth three hundred; in that, one hundred 
 and fifty; in the other, seventyfive; and so on 
 down, until far back under the gallery there was 
 no price attached. 
 
 All this, of course, encouraged church caste. 
 There were first-class, second*class, and third= 
 class members, and " strays." I do not mean 
 to say that there was a visible label or tag 
 to each, but a stranger could have guessed 
 where the line of demarcation was drawn. 
 
 36
 
 The Pew System 
 
 The "four hundred" had the best seats, right 
 in front of the pulpit, in the middle of the beau- 
 tiful house. Overhead the cherubs and mighty 
 angels flying through imaginary space poised 
 exactly above them. 
 
 Under solitary frescoed stars, without guardian 
 angels, sat the second=class members. Above 
 them was the plainer slope of the arching dome. 
 
 There were four ushers appointed to seat the 
 congregation. Two of these were for the middle 
 section, or first-class neighborhood, and were se- 
 lected from the four hundred's own number. 
 They took care to seat the splendidly dressed own- 
 ers of the front pews who, coming early or late, 
 were sure to find their seats unoccupied. That 
 is, they hardly ever found them occupied. The 
 ushers, who understood their business, kept an 
 eye on the church doors, and when strangers ap- 
 peared who had the unmistakable air of aristoc- 
 racy they were ushered down to the proper 
 neighborhood. There was cheerful room made 
 for such. 
 
 The other two ushers were for the second and 
 third=class sections. 
 
 John refused a seat for his own family which 
 was courteously tendered to us in the middle, or 
 first-class circle. We preferred to sit well back 
 under the gallery. That suited me well enough, 
 for I was silently studying human nature as 
 37
 
 The Pew System 
 
 one finds it in church. The whole panorama 
 glides before me now after the lapse of so many 
 years, and nobody will guess whom I mean if I 
 speak their names right out. 
 
 In walks neighbor Smith followed by his wife 
 and children, confidently expecting to find their 
 own pew empty and ready for them. They 
 pause at the entrance to find it already occupied. 
 Each of the family casts a questioning glance 
 up and down the pew, as much as to say, " This is 
 our seat. How came you in it?'' The embar- 
 rassed occupants try to make room for the real 
 owners of the pew, but the Smith's walk away 
 to some other locality, looking askance at the 
 usher whose fault has brought all this trouble. 
 The usher himself is embarrassed. He had to 
 seat the strangers somewhere, or tell them to go 
 on to the next church. 
 
 Mrs. Jones comes down the aisle and shows 
 her perturbation so emphatically at finding 
 strangers in her pew that the strangers gather 
 up their shawls and hats and step politely out. 
 Mrs. Jones settles herself comfortably in the 
 seat just vacated. Isn't it her pew, and hasn't 
 she paid a good round sum for it? 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Brown are looking over the floor 
 plan of the house, pinned in place on the outer 
 door of the vestibule. The prices of the pews 
 are plainly marked. Mr. Brown is just a com-
 
 MRS. JONES SHOWS HER PERTURBATION.
 
 The Pew System 
 
 mon man, is not rich, pays his debts, and goes 
 to church. There is quite a family of children 
 and they have always filled a whole seat before 
 the pew system had its day. Mr. and Mrs. 
 Brown read the price of the sittings and one 
 says, with a sigh, " Well, I guess three sittings 
 will do for us. We needn't all come to church 
 at the same time, and twenty-five dollars is all 
 we are able to pay just now." Not one of the 
 church officers ever says to Mr. Brown, " Why 
 don't you bring the whole family? Come right 
 in and feel at home. There's room enough; we 
 want the whole of you here." If the officers say 
 anything, it is in a side whisper to the effect 
 that "if Mr. Brown wants more room he can 
 rent the whole pew." 
 
 And this is the church of Christ! 
 
 John says there always has been an inclination 
 in the human heart to get the best seat. For in- 
 stance, ther,e was the Mother of Zebedee's chil- 
 dren. She wanted her two sons to have front 
 seats in the church of the New Jerusalem. So 
 she came to Jesus, thinking that he would have 
 charge of the pews up there, and asked a special 
 favor of him: "Grant that these, my two sons, 
 may sit the one on thy right hand and the other 
 on thy left, in thy kingdom." She knew better 
 than to ask for more than two sittings in that 
 part of the house. She and Zebedee could " take 
 
 39
 
 The Pew System 
 
 a turn about with the boys," she thought, and 
 " there couldn't be any better place in the house." 
 It was just such a location as she wanted. 
 
 The reply of the Lord was something like 
 this: "Sittings are not mine to give. Pews are 
 not sold in the kingdom of heaven. The Father 
 will give you a seat if so be you are prepared, or 
 enter in, desiring a place." 
 
 St. James understood the pew system when 
 he instructed the ushers in his church as to their 
 duties. " If there come into your assembly (or 
 church) a man with a gold ring and goodly ap- 
 parel, and there come in also a poor man in vile 
 raiment; and ye have respect to him that weareth 
 the gay clothing and say unto him, ' Sit thou 
 here in a good place' (in the middle section with 
 the four hundred) and say to the poor 'Stand 
 thou there or sit here '(under the gallery) are ye 
 not partial in yourselves and are become judges 
 of evil thoughts?" 
 
 Many shall come from the east and from the 
 west and shall sit down with Abraham, Isaac and 
 Jacob. I shouldn't wonder if Mr. and Mrs. 
 Brown and their whole family found room next 
 to Abraham; and the Wymans, who left our 
 church because they couldn't possibly pay for a 
 seat (though they were offered one free under 
 the gallery if they would stay) may sit next to the 
 Patriarch Jacob, in the Church of the First Born. 
 40
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 Parting Scenes 
 
 The parting day arrived. John, calm, earnest, 
 entered the door with me and conducted me to 
 my seat. It was his custom to go in at the 
 people's door occasionally. It was one of John's 
 peculiarities. He used to say that he got an in- 
 spiration from facing the pulpit, if only for a 
 moment. He liked a genial smile from a friend 
 in the vestibule or a warm shake of the hand as 
 he passed down the aisle. There is sympathy 
 in the air while one waits his turn at the duster 
 by the outer door of a summer morning, and 
 then grasps the handle of the wisp, warm from 
 the touch of a friend. 
 
 As John passed up the steps to the platform, 
 a sight met his eyes that was unexpected and 
 made him hesitate to look. The whole house 
 was rilled with fruit. Grapes on their long 
 vines draped the stained windows. Apples on 
 their stout branches swayed from the pillars. 
 Golden pumpkins, and pale bean vines, and 
 great sheaves of wheat and rye loaded the plat- 
 form. Corn, braided by its husks, still undried, 
 was laid across the pulpit and trailed away down
 
 Parting Scenes 
 
 the aisles. In front, suspended by an invisible 
 wire, was the motto, " By their fruits ye shall 
 know them." 
 
 John understood it all this more than well- 
 meant compliment to his labors. It had been 
 done by a few that loved him and, now that he 
 was actually going away, there was much of the 
 love of the old times welling up from hearts that 
 had suddenly remembered. 
 
 The human heart is so contrary with itself. We 
 knew that there was sincere sorrow at a depart- 
 ure which had been forced by " unavoidable cir- 
 cumstances." 
 
 It is always a sad hour when a pastor says 
 " farewell." There are the children over whose 
 tiny forms he has bowed and murmured " In the 
 Name of the Father, " while as yet that Father's 
 touch was warm upon them. There are the 
 " mated pairs " upon whose union the hand of 
 legal beatitude was laid by that same pastor. And 
 there are those to whose homes came the most 
 dreadful of all visitants, who were taught by 
 this same pastor that hope is stronger than de- 
 spair. Yes, a farewell sermon is sad. 
 
 John was equal to the occasion that day. He 
 hesitated, changed color, glanced at the beauti- 
 ful and generous display before him, and then 
 with a slow sweep of his splendidly tearful eyes 
 he looked every one of the great audience in the 
 
 42
 
 Parting Scenes 
 
 face. There was not a word spoken by him, nor 
 a rustle of sound among his people. There was 
 the still pressing of handkerchiefs to flowing 
 eyes, and then the whole congregation struck up 
 the old hymn which, like ancient treasures of 
 any sort, is rich because it has been kept so 
 long " When all thy mercies, O my God." As 
 the " love and praise " of the last line died away, 
 I began to dread the sermon. Farewell sermons 
 are so sad; they make people cry over a minister 
 whom they never saw before. 
 
 Now, I knew perfectly well that John would 
 preach a good sermon. And I knew just as well, 
 or thought I did, what it would be about. 
 
 I had never heard John preach a farewell ser- 
 mon, but I had a great many others, and had be- 
 come so familiar with their particular features 
 that I believe I could have delivered one myself 
 with perfect accuracy. 
 
 Usually John and I talked over the sermons 
 beforehand; but that week I had been so busy 
 packing and receiving calls that the sermon had 
 been quite forgotten by me. Speaking of calls, 
 I remember full well how the house was crowded 
 all day and far into the evening. The neigh- 
 bors did not come to help me, nor to do any 
 thing in particular but to cry. And what they 
 were crying about it would take a philosopher 
 to tell. If they had spent some of their tears 
 43
 
 Parting Scenes 
 
 over the delinquent debt of the church, and 
 thus have shown their love for John; or if they 
 had wept over the fact that John was not paid 
 his dues, then I could have seen some good in 
 their crying. But, now that we were going 
 away, to come and sit and weep as if there were 
 a coffin in the house; dropping in with no inten- 
 tion whatever of righting wrongs, looking wo- 
 ful and gloomy, detaining me when I was so 
 busy, staring into vacancy or my trunks as oc- 
 casion offered all this set me to thinking. I 
 didn't cry any, though my visitors did their best 
 to persuade me. 
 
 Some, who wept most freely, I had scarcely 
 ever known. Now I do cry myself, sometimes, 
 but never before strangers if I can help it. 
 John and I agree that if one makes the exhibition 
 of emotion too common, feeling loses its effect. 
 If one sheds tears profusely in the presence of 
 strangers one naturally suspects affectation. A 
 show of sorrow is sometimes extorted by the 
 consideration of effect. In the case of my call- 
 ers it was all for effect, save in a few instances 
 when old friends broke down and my own eyes 
 were reluctantly suffused. 
 
 John says there is an abnormal condition of 
 the mind in some people, a chronic malady as it 
 were, inducing its victim to seek opportunities 
 for crying. Some crave sad emotion, as de- 
 
 44
 
 Parting Scenes 
 
 ranged constitutions crave chalk and blue clay. 
 They seek funerals, and death-beds, and con- 
 victs' cells, and revival meetings, and retiring 
 ministers' families for the occasion thus ob- 
 tained to enjoy their favorite occupation of 
 shedding tears. 
 
 When John reads this he will say, "Aren't we 
 uncharitable, dear? I am afraid you will hurt 
 somebody's feelings; besides, you ought not to 
 tell everybody what I say." And I will an- 
 swer, " O John, I do not wish to offend anyone. 
 I wish to write what is good and true and help- 
 ful. All these things happened a good while 
 ago, you know, and may be they are out of fash- 
 ion by this time. It may be impossible for the 
 shoe I am cobbling to fit any modern foot. 
 May be people will be interested to know what 
 was the style in churches before they were born. 
 I don't make up anything, you know; I write 
 just what I can remember." 
 
 John will smile and say, " Well, my dear, be 
 sure and write in the past tense, then. You for- 
 get and say ' are ' for ' were ' and ' is ' for ' was.' " 
 
 I will try to remember, but if I forget occa- 
 sionally, I beg to be excused. 
 
 As I said, I felt perfectly sure what the fare- 
 well sermon would be like. It would be the fa- 
 miliar one, of course the text taken from Acts 
 xx. There would be the venerable form of St. 
 
 45
 
 Parting Scenes 
 
 Paul, and the roar of the sea, and the sobbing 
 of the tide, and the tears alike of the people 
 and of the briny deep. There would be the 
 ship at anchor swaying in the blue, rocking to 
 and fro from sympathy with the mourners on 
 the shore. There would be the sea birds drop- 
 ping their wings at half-mast, and dipping the 
 tips of them in the surf as if to borrow tears. 
 We should see St. Paul moving slowly down the 
 beach, pausing where the white foam made no 
 contrast with his hair as white. We should 
 hear him deliver that never-to=be=forgotten fare- 
 well sermon that goes echoing down the ages 
 with its own inimitable pathos. And there 
 would come the prayer, when the voice was 
 drowned in the depths, the words of which we 
 shall never know till the day when the sea gives 
 up its treasures. 
 
 Picture grand beyond description! Well was 
 it painted on the shoreless sea whose outward 
 horizon blended with the eternal sky! "And 
 they accompanied him unto the ship," as far as 
 any of us may accompany those we love. The 
 white sails unfurl and we are left with the bil- 
 lows and our tears. 
 
 46
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 John's Farewell Sermon 
 
 I am sure the congregation were all expecting 
 that sermon, for they wept softly as if to be 
 ready for the sorrowful climax. It was " as still 
 as the grave," so to speak, when John arose and 
 opened the Bible. 
 
 What was my surprise when he announced 
 his text to be Genesis vi: 14. 
 
 How many thoughts crowd into the mind in 
 a few seconds! They are like a vast throng of 
 passers-by, not waiting for single file, but push- 
 ing and crowding themselves and jostling one 
 another, without order or rank. I thought of 
 the great disappointment depicted upon many 
 faces; of John's lost opportunity of making a 
 lasting impression; a personal impression; of 
 his apparent lack of sympathy with the sad 
 spirit of the hour, and of the criticism of those 
 not in accord at any time. I knew the selection 
 must be some account of the flood, and it seemed 
 so unfitting. It was like a play announced to 
 be " Love's drama," and when the curtain rose 
 presenting only sea and sky. 
 
 But these feelings of mine were only for a mo- 
 
 47
 
 John's Farewell Sermon 
 
 ment. My habitual confidence in John led me 
 into serenity. It was so like John to choose 
 the text he did. I remembered how I had 
 heard him say that "ministers have no right to 
 carry their personal feelings into their oppor- 
 tunities to preach. Personal love, sorrow, 
 pique, fears, discontent, gratitude, have no 
 place in the pulpit. When the preacher is done 
 he will have led his hearers away from himself 
 so that they will be conscious of nothing but 
 the message. The hearers may think of them- 
 selves, and burn with sorrow, or pale with re- 
 morse; their sympathies may be aroused for 
 some other, but not for the minister. He 
 should be in the background and preach Jesus 
 Christ, not himself." 
 
 I think John was right. There is a great 
 temptation for ministers to elicit sympathy for 
 themselves, taking occasion from their priv- 
 ilege in the pulpit. Personal reminiscences 
 of a private nature, allusions to great sorrows 
 of their own which have no bearing upon the 
 needs of the hour, have little effect save to 
 cause tears to flow from eyes that are seldom 
 dry. Intimations as to the depth of degrada- 
 tion into which they were plunged "before 
 their conversion"; hints, with sighs as to pos- 
 sible "griefs" which they are keeping to them- 
 selves all this is but vanity and vexation. 
 
 48
 
 John's Farewell Sermon 
 
 These should be left in the study; abandoned 
 with morning prayers. As to that farewell ser- 
 mon enacted on the shores of the Mediterra- 
 nean, there are few Pauls and as few opportuni- 
 ties to bid a last adieu to friends with breaking 
 hearts. When "bonds and imprisonments" 
 await the retiring minister; when he steps on 
 shipboard to face a stronger and more cruel 
 element than tho sea, then may he appropriate 
 to himself that matchless farewell. But to 
 bring that sublime scene down to the conditions 
 of to-day, when the retiring minister boards the 
 train for an adjoining city, or steps out of one 
 pulpit to take charge of another at more salary 
 and less work, it is sacrilege. The conceit of it 
 is appalling. And yet who stops to think? 
 
 There was a rustle visible and audible when 
 John read: "Rooms shalt thou make in the ark, 
 and thou shalt pitch it within and without with 
 pitch." 
 
 " O John, John," I said to myself, " what 
 can pitch possibly have to do with this church 
 and with this occasion?" and I more than half 
 smiled. I caught John's eye for an instant and 
 in the flash was an assurance. 
 
 That habit of " catching John's eye " is a lit- 
 tle custom, common to us even now that we are 
 growing old and wear spectacles. That is what 
 is meant by the text "As iron sharpeneth iron, 
 49
 
 John's Farewell Sermon 
 
 so doth the countenance of a man his friend." 
 
 Mine is not the only eye that John used to 
 catch. There was Judge Rich. John often 
 says that Judge Rich, by a glance, has given 
 him a new thought or checked him in some 
 previously constructed utterance. He and the 
 Judge, as well as John and I, sometimes made 
 up the sermon together, or at least laid the 
 foundation and put up the beams and rafters. 
 Or we frescoed the whole when it was com- 
 pleted. John says this is what is meant by 
 " the whole body fitly joined together." Every 
 " joint " supplying what will be the most effect- 
 ual " working " so that " love is edified." And 
 "love was edified" that morning while the 
 autumn sunshine streamed through the stained 
 windows, giving the corn a purple tint and the 
 wheat a crimson hue. 
 
 I wish I could give the sermon as a whole; 
 but John's notes were abbreviated and even 
 they are lost now. What I can remember of it 
 I will give, however disconnected and insuffi- 
 cient. It may prove that the need of pitch is 
 not lost even though the waters that bore 
 Noah's ark are assuaged. 
 
 He first spoke of the need of an ark for indi- 
 viduals and for families. " What have you 
 built," he asked " for the saving of your house? 
 Everywhere is the flood of sin and the debris of 
 
 50
 
 John's Farewell Sermon 
 
 misery cast up by sin. The driftwood of 
 crime, committed or intended, seeks a shore 
 upon which to cast itself. What about the 
 church, this ark that you are in? Have you 
 pitched it within and without with pitch? 
 Have you sealed the apertures through which 
 vainglory, and presumption, and unsanctified 
 ambition, and envy and strife seep and filter? 
 Have you made the roof secure, that part next 
 to God and heaven, over which Justice bends 
 and Eternity holds its possibilities? 
 
 " Perchance you have pitched it ' without.' 
 To the world, which sees only the exterior, you 
 are safe. The rains descend and the floods 
 come; you shelter yourselves behind the walls 
 that enclose you. You do a thousand things 
 under cover of the ark, under the wings of the 
 church, assuring yourselves that there is no 
 danger. Are there not envy, and overreaching, 
 and backbiting, and discontent, and decep- 
 tion? Is there not the slander of a look, the 
 stain of a half Buttered exclamation? Are there 
 not bargains and sales in which the considera- 
 tion is a mortgage on the soul and values paid 
 in gold coined from life's best possibilties? Is 
 there not the preferring of a man's self to his 
 neighbor, the scuffle of hurrying feet to secure 
 the best things, the best homes and the best 
 privileges?
 
 John's Farewell Sermon 
 
 " Listen!" and there was perfect silence for 
 minutes. Then John went on: " Do you hear all 
 these, oozing drop by drop, through your ark? 
 Oh, the empty profession; the lack of pitch on 
 the inside; the forgetting of possible crevices 
 out of sight of scrutiny; the neglect of invisible 
 apertures through which the storm drizzles! 
 
 " The story of the flood has not lost its mean- 
 ing. The command of Jehovah, ' Thou shalt 
 pitch it within and without with pitch, ' was 
 not given to be spent upon a structure three 
 hundred cubits long and thirty cubits high. 
 The character of a man stretches from life's bit 
 of shore into the surge of eternity. It may be 
 as high as it is long and reach to the sky above 
 him. A man's character is his ark. In his 
 heart, in the inside of him, he must be impervi- 
 ous to the elements. If this inside be neglect- 
 ed, the outside, his pretension, his common 
 life, is full of chinks. Through these the flood 
 sweeps, and the agitated outer elements surge. 
 
 " Men may build an ark whose form is good. 
 They may make for themselves ' rooms ' wherein 
 to house the creatures of Christian culture. 
 But if it be not cemented together part to part, 
 of what avail? 
 
 " Varnish is not cement. In a little space of 
 time a man will be as if he had no ark. And 
 the worst of it is, when a man's ark is sub- 
 
 52
 
 John's Farewell Sermon 
 
 merged, from whatever disaster, his household 
 mostly perish with him. Is your life consistent, 
 my hearers? Have you constructed your ark, 
 be it church, or home, or character, with an eye 
 to the danger? Beware of the little leaks, the 
 seams, the fissures, through which the floods 
 that are without may reach you." 
 
 And then John spoke of the "ark of bull= 
 rushes " in which a royal infant was placed 
 upon the river. How it, too, " was daubed with 
 pitch," that it should not sink with the weight 
 of its occupant. "Happy the man," he said, 
 " whose ark is built in childhood. Save a child 
 and perchance you save a prophet. See to it 
 that no chink is left in the little bark through 
 which may gurgle the rush of high water or the 
 ooze of low tide." 
 
 And then he turned the Bible over and on 
 until he reached the Revelation. 
 
 "And I saw a new heaven and a new earth, 
 for the first heaven and the first earth had 
 passed away, and there was no more sea." The 
 flood has spent itself. The first heaven, with its 
 clouds and booming storms and rushing mighty 
 winds has passed away. So has the first earth, 
 on whose bosom were agitation and the moan of 
 waves and the ceaseless roar of unrest. 
 
 " What is your prospect, my hearers, as you 
 look out of your windows? To some of you the 
 
 53
 
 John's Farewell Sermon 
 
 tope of the mountains above the clouds are al- 
 ready visible. Ararat is in sight. Yet seven 
 days, mayhap, and your ark will rest upon the 
 summit. See, the rainbow, God's promise, 
 spans the arch of time's horizon. Though the 
 flood is not yet subsided there is the bow. 'And 
 there shall be no more sea.' 'No more sea'." 
 
 John himself was forgotten. It was as he 
 would have it. There was a hush of many min- 
 utes when it seemed as if we heard the swish of 
 waters, and the gentle dying away of rain, and 
 the low grinding of the boat's bottom on the 
 sand, while tints of rainbow colors fell softly 
 through the windows. We saw the new heaven 
 and the new earth. St. John, sitting alone on 
 the Isle of Patmos, faded into a distant speck4f 
 and then sank into a blending of earth and sky 
 radiant with light. 
 
 Then the choir sang that hymn of Faber's. 
 Low and soft the melody approached us from 
 far away. Nearer it came, and then it receded 
 until we could only hear a faint tone as of dis- 
 tant waves at daybreak: 
 
 The land beyond the sea; 
 
 When will life's task be o'er? 
 
 When shall we reach that soft bine shore. 
 
 O'er the dark strait whose billows foam and roar ? 
 
 When shall we come to thee, 
 
 Calm land beyond the sea? 
 
 54
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 John Finds a New Field 
 
 After we bade good-by to the church that 
 outgrew John we went into the country where 
 we owned a little cottage and some acres. John 
 was urged to take another charge immediately, 
 but he declined, saying that " he would wait a 
 while." 
 
 John did not claim the need of " rest," that 
 excuse for all the follies and embarrassments 
 and illnesses that ministerial flesh is heir to. 
 lie says: " Ministers do not need rest more than 
 two-- thirds of the flock need it. It is change, 
 not rest, which they all need. It would be bet- 
 ter for both the preacher and his people if the 
 minister took a turn about with the husband- 
 man and the house builder and the teacher. 
 They would all secure the needed change, and 
 the pulpit might not suffer if the gospel were 
 presented now and then from the standpoint of 
 a lay member. The fact is, the minister grows 
 naturally into viewing all sides of faith and 
 practice from the observatory of the pulpit, 
 hence he is so often shocked at what he terms 
 heterodoxy in some of his flock. Meanwhile the 
 
 55
 
 John Finds a New Field 
 
 member wonders that his spiritual leader is so 
 near-sighted. 
 
 "What the preacher needs occasionally is 
 steady work for muscles of chest and hand and 
 limb a part of every year. There would be 
 fewer cases of ' nervous prostration ' sent across 
 the seas to recuperate, and less sentiment about 
 ' wearing oneself out in the service.' Martyrs 
 in this sense are not needed. When a minister 
 begins to look pale and pathetic, and bends his 
 head languidly to one side in a pensive way, and 
 elicits sympathy on account of his 'nerves,' it 
 is high time the church door were closed on 
 him and he, like Adam, sent into the garden to 
 dress and to keep it. This would not be de- 
 grading to the ministry, but uplifting. Such a 
 course would ensure a return to the pulpit with 
 new thoughts and finer perceptions caught from 
 plants and animals and fresh air. The ' Tree of 
 Life ' grows in the garden to-day no less than it 
 did in Adam's day; and we die with our years 
 half told for want of the thing, which by reason 
 of its very nearness, we neglect. Away with the 
 pensive cast of countenance too often seen in the 
 pulpit! Let it give willing place to temporary 
 sunburn. Callous hands may point the way to 
 heaven as accurately as softly dimpled ones." 
 
 That is what John says, and I answer: " Don't 
 you think you are too severe yourself this time? 
 
 56
 
 John Finds a New Field 
 
 You might give offense, you know, to real good 
 ministers. Ministers are spiritual folks; why, I 
 know of one who was dismissed from a very fine 
 situation because he was seen, in broad day- 
 light, carrying a piece of stovepipe home under 
 his arm. And another was criticised sharply 
 for being seen with a pair of old trousers on, 
 digging in the garden around some shrubs. I 
 tell you, John, ministers can't be too careful." 
 
 "No, ministers can't be too careful," echoed 
 John. " I have heard too many allusions to a 
 certain minister's ' faultless complexion,' or to 
 his small and shapely hands. The elegance of 
 his person too often decides in favor of a new 
 pastor. Not that grace of figure nor of feature 
 are to be disparaged. They are gifts of God 
 but there are other gifts." 
 
 John tilled his acres for a year and then he 
 taught school a term. Those are old-fashioned 
 methods of change and recuperation viewed 
 from the height of the present time. Even at 
 the date of my story wise old heads could be 
 seen shaking wofully and hinting at " time 
 wasted" and "talents buried in a napkin." 
 
 John made answer: " It was not that the 
 talent was wrapped in a napkin, but that it was 
 buried, that brought censure upon the servant. 
 It was put out of sight, out of mind, out of 
 touch, out of circulation in a world of traffic 
 
 67
 
 John Finds a New Field 
 
 which had need of it. The napkin was but a 
 girdle, or the wallet in which the talent should 
 have been carried about with the servant. My 
 talent, the silver negotiable in the kingdom, is in 
 the wallet of my faith. I shall not bury it in my 
 field, albeit I am ploughing and planting. The 
 Lord's money is no less at interest that I myself 
 am the usurer. It is accumulating to itself 
 more of its kind, and the whole sum is ready at 
 the call of the Master." 
 
 Thus did John make answer in regard to his 
 so called buried talent. All the time he was 
 thinking and reading " whetting his scythe, " as 
 he said. At the end of two years he was ready 
 for a new swath. This was no sooner known 
 than many were his invitations. He went about 
 some and in a short time had decided in his 
 own mind what field he would prefer. John 
 had preferences. All ministers have. 
 
 He says: "It might be well for the minister 
 to give the church a call, occasionally. Satis- 
 faction would result as often, perhaps, and 
 neither should make haste in the matter. One 
 swallow does not make a summer, neither does 
 one sermon nor even two prove the fitness of pas- 
 tor to people. How can a preacher conclude 
 that he is the man for a certain church when he 
 knows nothing of that church save as he has 
 looked upon a sea of faces? It has been re- 
 58
 
 John Finds a New Field 
 
 ferred to on the part of his friends as ' a desira- 
 ble field.' What constitutes a desirable field? 
 Large numbers, fine equipments, generous 
 salary?" 
 
 John did not choose " a desirable field." If 
 so, then he would have accepted the invitation 
 to Old Mentone, where he was offered five thou- 
 sand and an assistant besides. " Just out of 
 debt; large, fine church; good standing; high- 
 toned; in fact, a model." 
 
 "And why should not we go there?" I asked. 
 "You deserve it, John. You can grace any 
 pulpit, and they want you. Besides, you have 
 served your term with poverty and church debt 
 and uncomfortable things." Oh, I did want to 
 go to Old Mentone! John could do as much 
 good there as elsewhere, I argued; and the 
 church being so "united" upon giving him a 
 " call " was the strongest reason why he should 
 go there. In fact, it was an absolute " indica- 
 tion," and I told him so. 
 
 John found me crying one time about that 
 very thing, for women will cry, even ministers' 
 wives, sometimes. I had begun to suspect what 
 his choice would be. When he saw my tears 
 John took my hand and said, kindly: " There is 
 the story of a woman who did wash the feet of 
 the Christ with tears and wiped them with the 
 hair of her head. It was not the fact that she 
 
 59
 
 John Finds a New Field 
 
 wept that startled dignity the greatest of them 
 had no doubt wept. They would make haste to 
 mingle their tears with the Great Master's, to 
 baptize His hands or His forehead in the ac- 
 cepted dignity of tears. But to kneel at His 
 feet, to wash them, to weep in a humiliating at- 
 titude, to choose a menial service while the 
 multitudes were at meat this is what shocked 
 propriety, but it sent its holy lesson into all the 
 world. 
 
 "There are many to sit at meat in the grand 
 churches; there is no difficulty in filling the pul- 
 pits of such with eloquence. Will you come 
 with me to this unfortunate church, so long 
 relegated to fast on account of its sins, and 
 there wash the Master's feet? In that place you 
 could break the alabaster box of your heart with 
 its hopes and desires and preferences, and even 
 its love of me. The perfume of it all might fill 
 the house and you yourself be charged with 
 sweetness as you never would have been without 
 the breaking of the box. What shall we do?" 
 
 When John said, "What shall we do?" his 
 tone implied, " This thing will we do," and I 
 knew he was right. 
 
 Now, the church that John chose was a very 
 unpopular one, to say the best of it. His con- 
 nection with it could not possibly bring him 
 precedence nor honor. It had passed through 
 
 60
 
 John Finds a New Field 
 
 one of those dire calamities of public scandal 
 which spares neither pulpit nor pew. The 
 church body itself was now nearly disbanded. 
 Member after member had slipped out into 
 other folds, or had retired altogether from 
 Christian society. Its very name was a re- 
 proach to religion. 
 
 There was no church edifice, so to speak, but 
 simply a plain two-story structure, much too 
 large, without spire or bell or debt or other in- 
 cumbrance save that dreadful scandal. For 
 some time it had been difficult to supply the pul- 
 pit two Sundays in succession. A minister had 
 no reward for preaching in that church outside 
 of the very few dollars in his pocket. It gave 
 him no popularity with other churches. 
 
 The membership which remained was divided 
 into factions. There were backbitings and strife 
 and evil surmisings. Upon one thing only were 
 they all agreed they must have a pastor or dis- 
 band altogether. 
 
 In speaking of our going there John said to 
 me: " There was a certain man going down from 
 Jerusalem to Jericho who fell among thieves. 
 These stripped him of his raiment and wounded 
 him and departed, leaving him half dead. We 
 have found this church, this ' certain man '; shall 
 wo pass him by like the characters in the story, 
 or shall we tarry and have compassion and bind 
 
 61
 
 John Finds a New Field 
 
 up his wounds and take care of him ; seat him on 
 our own beast, figuratively speaking that prin- 
 ciple, or power, or divine means of overcoming 
 the roughness of the way by which we ourselves 
 have journeyed so far? This church has been 
 sick a long while. It has little strength and less 
 courage to use what strength it has. It imagines 
 every man a robber and is afraid to move lest it 
 meet again with calamity. 
 
 " Jesus stood up in the synagogue and read 
 about healing the broken-hearted, delivering the 
 captives, preaching the acceptable year of the 
 Lord, giving sight to the blind and taking care 
 of them that are bruised. Who is broken- 
 hearted more than the church that has endured 
 such a scandal? Who is a captive more than 
 this church chained to the dead body of a crim- 
 inal the memory of such a shame? The mem- 
 bers are cast down, evilly spoken of, full of bit- 
 terness and reproach for one another, and hate 
 and evil thoughts. It has not a single attractive 
 feature save its scars." 
 
 I do not mean my description shall be ab- 
 solutely sweeping. There were a few men and 
 women who bore up under the derision and de- 
 served scorn, whose own skirts were free from 
 pollution save as they had suffered from bearing 
 the common burden. 
 
 How sin hardens the human heart! I do 
 
 62
 
 John Finds a New Field 
 
 mean more the hearts of those who have sinned 
 primarily, than I do friends and observers. 
 From being at first distressed, and humiliated, 
 and grieved, they soon grow morose and unfor- 
 giving. This was the case with that church at 
 Sunrise Park. 
 
 63
 
 At Sunrise Park 
 
 There was enough support pledged to John to 
 keep us from anxiety. He would accept of no 
 promises beyond their present ability. We 
 could live comfortably and save a little. This 
 was as well as the majority of members did. 
 "The workman is worthy of his meat," John 
 quoted. " It is not necessary that he dine on 
 terrapin and robins' breasts. He may share the 
 meat of those about him, be it only bacon and 
 mutton brisket, provided those about him can 
 no^afrord better, and over it say ' grace ' for the 
 whole community." 
 
 As I said, we had sufficient and some to spare 
 for an occasional tramp. By " tramp " I mean 
 a visitor of whatsoever sort. What else do we 
 mean when we pray, " Give us this day our daily 
 bread?" The personal pronoun "I" is not 
 used in the Lord's Prayer, hence we pray for the 
 tramp the disagreeable, homespun tramp 
 who comes to us unannounced and uninvited, 
 save as we invited him unconsciously in our 
 petition. 
 
 John says: "There are tramps, and other 
 64
 
 At Sunrise Park 
 
 tramps. Some go about on foot in threadbare 
 clothes, and countenances as threadbare of hope 
 or of shame. These are the unwelcome, hated 
 tramps, who steal a night's lodging on our hay 
 and sneak away in the early dawn. They are as 
 shiftless and as lazy as was that class mentioned 
 in the Levitical law, who no doubt objected to 
 hard work, but who nevertheless were provided 
 for. 'Thou shalt not glean thy vineyard, neither 
 shalt thou gather every grape of thy vineyard; 
 thou shalt leave them for the poor and stranger 
 (the tramps); I am the Lord your God.' 
 
 "There are some who tramp in private cars 
 fitted into moving palaces, who dine at grand 
 hotels, instead of on our back doorsteps. These 
 also we include in the prayer for 'our daily 
 bread.' The ' family and fold of God ' include 
 all classes. Conditions are accepted with a sigh 
 in the present state of society. When the vine- 
 yards revert to the original owner, Jehovah, 
 there will be no grudging of the gleanings for 
 the poor. And Jehovah respects toil and own- 
 ership, for the tramp was not entitled to the first 
 harvest. A handful of barley, a small share 
 only of the abundant whole, was left for the 
 stranger. He had no right to another man's 
 labor. This system kept the one from starving, 
 while the other was taught to remember the 
 
 poor." 
 
 65
 
 At Sunrise Park 
 
 We moved into a small cottage in the rural 
 village of Sunrise Park in June 18 . John's 
 first sermon was on the text, "As long as the 
 cloud abode upon the tabernacle they rested in 
 their tents." " God would teach his people to 
 rest when the cloud is on them, when the mists 
 of reproach and trial are between them and light. 
 To rest was to feel no doubt in the ultimate 
 moving on; to feel secure and at home with 
 God's promises even though one's way lay 
 through the wilderness. Jehovah is not the 
 cloud, but He is in the cloud. We bless His 
 holy name for that. Though there seems no 
 light in your way, and each has been separated 
 from his brother on account of the thick dark- 
 ness, there are promises to you like light to the 
 blind. Here is one: 'As a shepherd seeketh out 
 his flock in the day that he is among his sheep 
 that are scattered, so will I seek out my sheep 
 and will deliver them out of all places where 
 they have been scattered in the cloudy and dark 
 day.' Ye are all the Lord's Israel, and the 
 promises are unto you and to your children." 
 
 And "rest" fell upon the handful of believers 
 in the little troubled church. New tissue begai* 
 to form in the bruised places; old torn shreds 
 began to knit to the better structures, and 
 although the processes were slow they were 
 healthy. 
 
 66
 
 At Sunrise Park 
 
 I say the work of repair "began"; there was 
 no miracle wrought in an hour. Natural growth 
 out of trouble was simply fostered and perfected 
 by grace. " First that which is natural " came 
 about. Time heals, to some extent, spiritual 
 as well as physical wounds. Natural processes 
 do their healing work in body and in heart. 
 They are none the less of God, 
 
 If I were writing an impossible story I would 
 have that unfortunate church brought into unity 
 and sweetness of temper and love unfeigned in 
 the twinkling of an eye. That would illustrate 
 the power of John's influence and put him on 
 the plane of the old prophets who caused iron 
 to swim and leprosy to disappear in a river bath. 
 But John was not one of the old prophets, and 
 as this is a true story I cannot record flattering 
 results. 
 
 There were no swift changes for the better; 
 no success on lightning wings as a reward for 
 self=abandonment. Some great and unexpected 
 good comes to the boy in the Sunday-school 
 book and he tantalizes his companions who are 
 not good, with a display of his gain. 
 
 It is only a story conceived by the author to 
 induce all little boys to be good. There is not 
 a particle of truth in it. The result is, if a boy 
 is good and obedient and the reward is not 
 forthcoming he pouts and grows sullen. A bit 
 67
 
 At Sunrise Park 
 
 of Sunday-school fiction has spoiled many a 
 boy. Better to have taught the lesson that visi- 
 ble reward is as scarce as humming birds at 
 Christmas time when the snow is three feet deep 
 in the garden. Reward is not more sure to the 
 boy than is success to the man. Both may 
 come in disguise and never be recognized in 
 this life. 
 
 So, as I said, results in John's work were not 
 soon nor flattering. The command to " wash and 
 be clean " was to individuals, not communities. 
 One at a time the maimed, the lame, the halt 
 and the blind go down into the pool, angel- 
 troubled. It is heaven's method of receiving 
 the sick. One at a time is healed of whatsoever 
 disease he has. If the healing were to reach all 
 at once, where were patience, and the watching 
 for repeated visits of the angel, and the great 
 desire to step down first? When, by a manifold 
 miracle ten were cleansed, only one returned to 
 give glory. Glory is necessary to convince the 
 world, and so we have one leper at a time 
 cleansed. 
 
 In this new field of his John did not expect 
 immediate and universal results. " Hadst thou 
 faith like a grain of mustard seenihou couldst 
 say to this mountain, ' Be thou removed,' and it 
 would obey thee." " Like a grain of mustard 
 seed " perfect, fertile, without suspicion of for- 
 68
 
 At Sunrise Park 
 
 eign element or premature putting forth a 
 thing measured and weighed and fashioned 
 according to some mysterious power. Faith 
 like a grain of mustard seed is not common, even 
 if it be found at all in the church of God. Some 
 are said to possess it, but who has removed a 
 mountain? To level a tiny hillock is easy, but 
 where whole mountains of accumulated misery 
 stretch across the church continent there are 
 none with faith like a mustard seed to com- 
 mand them to be removed. A mountain is seen 
 of many; it is not a mound on one's personal es- 
 tate whose exact location and size none may 
 know save the owner of it. I may claim to have 
 removed a mountain in my pasture lands, but 
 unless it has been located and measured and 
 scaled by others besides myself, who shall be- 
 lieve that I have removed a mountain? Nor 
 were we commanded to remove mountains. 
 
 69
 
 CHAPTER X 
 A Church Keception 
 
 Soon after our arrival at Sunrise Park the 
 church gave a reception to the new pastor. 
 Church receptions in those days days were often 
 peculiar. The " leading members " that is, the 
 smart, well dressed, fine, fashionable minority of 
 the real whole constituted themselves a " recep- 
 tion committee." They gathered in a circle in 
 the centre of the church parlor, smiling and 
 chatting and diffusive of witty remarks. When 
 the new minister and his wife appeared they 
 were introduced to the waiting ring in succes- 
 sion, and afterwards, poor, insignificant mem- 
 bers were hurriedly or carelessly presented. 
 Naturally enough, and without evident inten- 
 tion, these were passed along to make room for 
 others. The affectionate " leading members " 
 managed always to have the minister in charge, 
 very much as its owners guard a beautiful ani- 
 mal at a county fair. He is dextrously en- 
 gaged in conversation by the brightest ladies, 
 and occasionally with some gentleman of the 
 same sort. So adroitly is the event managed 
 that at the close of the affair the minister imag- 
 
 70
 
 A Church Reception 
 
 ines that his flock are all South Downs without 
 a mixture of inferior stock, and he wonders that 
 " the lines have fallen to him in such pleasant 
 places." Alas for the church of God if " pleas- 
 ant places " are the ambition of her ministers! 
 unless, perchance, their ambition be to make 
 "pleasant places" for those of the flock who 
 are on the remote desert edge of poverty and 
 unpopularity. 
 
 There! I am guilty of a solecism the very 
 thing John bade me beware of. I dropped from 
 the past to the present tense. It was uninten- 
 tional; of course I was describing a church re- 
 ception as it was, not as it is. 
 
 It was a bright picture that met us at the 
 door. Being in perfect health at the time and 
 in the best of spirits, John and I were prepared 
 to enjoy the reception. We were presented to 
 " the committee," and afterwards to each and all 
 in turn. Then seats were placed for us against 
 a background of flowers and vines. 
 
 I whispered to John a suggestion that we 
 were in danger of being carried to the skies " on 
 flowery beds of ease," but he bade me have no 
 fear. 
 
 Pots of rare fragrance were set all about on 
 
 little tables so that the whole air was redolent. 
 
 Pretty dresses and shining white teeth and 
 
 brilliant conversation made me, at least, very 
 
 71
 
 A Church Reception 
 
 happy and nattered; nor was I proof against the 
 pleasant personal things said to me. I did my 
 best to return in kind all that I received, in- 
 wardly assured that in such polite and finished 
 society I should have nothing to regret. Alas, 
 and alas! 
 
 Soon John began to look uninterested. Once 
 or twice he did not hear when a remark was 
 made to him. I understood. Some thoughtless 
 people were " bringing up a slander on the 
 land," and John did not care to hear. Small= 
 talk like this was repulsive to him as in bad 
 taste in such a place, aside from its bearing 
 upon his connection with every separate mem- 
 ber of his flock. 
 
 He turned and looked around the large room. 
 I followed his glance and saw what I had not 
 noticed before that we were the centre of a 
 group of the best dressed, most aristocratic 
 people in the parlor. To the left of us there 
 was a second group second in appearance, 
 though not lacking in a certain refinement one 
 sees in some who wear second=rate clothes. In the 
 far corner was yet another group, of the more com- 
 mon sort who work diligently, live economically 
 and pay their debts; at the same time wearing 
 their last year's bonnets and coats with a cer- 
 tain " at^homeness " quite possible with such 
 out-of-date apparel. One sees this identical 
 
 73
 
 CONVERSING AWHILE WITH HIS NEW CONSTITUENCY.
 
 A Church Reception 
 
 group in some of the churches of to=day, I am 
 told. They pay their church dues promptly and 
 are never behind in their obligations, whether sa- 
 cred or secular. And yet, strange to say, they 
 are always in the " far corner." They are 
 treated respectfully, to be sure; even cordially 
 when there is an especial collection to be taken. 
 In the intervals they are always to be found in 
 that " far corner." I wish there were no corners 
 in the church; no distance suggestive of groups. 
 John excused himself and walked over to 
 group No. 2. I could see speaking glances dart 
 from one to another of the little faction about 
 me and there was quite a hush in the hitherto 
 lively conversation. After conversing a while 
 with his new constituency, John went over to 
 the far corner. I could see, by his manner, and 
 the way in which he was drawing everyone into 
 conversation, that he was very much interested 
 there. Presently he called to someone in 
 group No. 2 to come over into the corner and 
 decide some question. This made a break in 
 group No. 2, and soon the whole of them were 
 in the corner. But it seemed the question un- 
 der discussion could not be settled without 
 group No. 1 joined the combine. It was ap- 
 pealed to, and of course we, too, went over into 
 the corner. John was always a good talker. By 
 "good talker" I do not mean that he said so 
 
 73
 
 A Church Keception 
 
 much himself, though he was not lacking in ex- 
 pression, but he had a gift of making others 
 give an opinion or venture a remark, which was 
 irresistible. 
 
 The subject of conversation that evening was 
 " Individuality in plants and animals," of course 
 including man. The personality of every sep- 
 arate apple blossom and its apparent determina- 
 tion to develop itself into an apple; the impres- 
 sion it makes upon a neighboring apple by close 
 association, as is noticed in the light and shade 
 of coloring. There is a like personality in veg- 
 etables which crowd together in the ground. 
 The stronger shape the weaker and crush them 
 into dwarfs misshapen semblances of the veg- 
 etables they ought to be. Only to beings of hu- 
 man growth has been given the divine behest to 
 "look also upon the things of others," or to 
 " prefer one another in honor " or perfectness. 
 If the " Son of man should walk through the 
 fields on the Sabbath day " as he did so long 
 ago, would he not find his people, like the lower 
 orders, crowding one another, and crushing the 
 small ones, and pushing each in turn, or all the 
 time, his fellows, until the nourishment intend- 
 ed for the whole is absorbed by a few, and the 
 little ones left to wither? 
 
 "But don't you think," said a lady in gray, 
 " that the little ones ought to be glad to see the 
 74
 
 A Church Reception 
 
 big ones grow and be beautiful? And after all, 
 do not the small ones push just as hard to get 
 to the light and crowd themselves between bet- 
 ter individuals as, see the apples in a cluster? 
 They started together in the blossom. Whose 
 fault is it that one is full=grown and the other 
 dwarfed?" 
 
 "First that which is natural," replied John, 
 "and afterwards that which is spiritual. The 
 Son of man came to teach that individuality 
 should give place to preference, and personal 
 ambition for place or prominence to stand aside 
 for the good of all. Though like them in many 
 ways, are we not much better than the plants?" 
 
 "Well," said a gentleman with a dress-coat 
 on, " I fail to see the point in all this. The 
 sentiment is good but where shall wo apply it? 
 If a man is never to rise unless he lift his 
 neighbor with him, how many of us would be 
 above the turf? I am on the south side of the 
 apple tree, just where nature hung me. Shall I 
 leave my place and swing around to the north 
 that my little neighbor in the shade may have 
 the light? Or, I am a potato in the garden soil. 
 Am I to squeeze under a smaller one, between 
 it and some other, that they may have more 
 room to grow on the outside and suck in the 
 moisture of the surface where I had my birth- 
 right? Sir, it is unnatural. Ten to one the 
 
 75
 
 A Church Reception 
 
 little one would never grow to my size if it had 
 a chance." 
 
 Here a call to supper interrupted the conver- 
 sation and the subject was postponed to the 
 next social. It was a good deal better to carry 
 on a conversation in this way on various subjects 
 than to stand or sit, looking tired or parading 
 one's clothes or dividing into groups for gos- 
 sip. 
 
 One of the gentlemen beside me gave me his 
 arm and I heard him suggest to a neighbor that 
 he arrange for the minister to take Mrs. Mc- 
 Deavitt. "A highly respectable lady," as he 
 whispered to me. 
 
 I looked at Mrs. McDeavitt and noted her 
 beauty, her faultless dress and manner but alas! 
 there was about her a certain undefinable air 
 which bade me beware. Immediately upon 
 the proposal for tea I saw John give his arm to 
 a diffident, plainly dressed woman by his side, a 
 Miss Waterbury. 
 
 Again the reception committee exchanged 
 glances. But I was glad for John, and glad for 
 the lady by his side as well. I thought she 
 looked as if she would grace a better station in 
 life than she was used to. That was a very fool- 
 ish thought of mine; as if any position were not 
 " graced " by such as she. When shall we learn 
 that there is no station better than the one that 
 76
 
 A Church Reception 
 
 each is in, provided each graces that position? 
 
 Of course, way was made for the minister and 
 his companion to pass out ahead, and he seated 
 her with the deference so natural to John. She 
 looked happy, as if conscious of having swung 
 around " to the south side of the apple tree," 
 and she grew rosy in the sunshine of her new 
 place. 
 
 I looked down the table and noted that the 
 "sets" or factions were seated as they had 
 stood before in separate companies. There 
 was no mingling of either with the other, save 
 in the case of Rachel Waterbury. And yet 
 this was at the Lord's table, and in His house! 
 77
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 We Receive Calls 
 
 The church social was a success in that his 
 people began to understand John on the 
 " church^gossip " question. Some people think 
 there is a sacredness about church gossip which 
 naturally places it above the ordinary, and 
 lends it an air of tolerance quite foreign to 
 common Smalltalk. But John says "church 
 gossip has no more sanctity than neighborhood 
 slander; in fact it is more malicious." What 
 should the new minister care that this or that 
 member "was concerned in the late trouble and 
 took sides" one way or another? 
 
 Some sly attempts were made afterwards to 
 interest John and me in the past painful his- 
 tory of the church, but I do not know to this 
 day who was to blame and who not in the mat- 
 ter, nor the particulars as to the slander. 
 
 The past was forgotten save as we could see 
 the " cold shoulder " on the part of some of the 
 flock towards other members. 
 
 There was a disposition to be " neighborly " 
 on the part of some of our neighbors, especially 
 those who lived close by. Such as did not 
 
 78
 
 We Receive Calls 
 
 " drop in " just to get acquainted with the new 
 minister and see " how he stood " on the ques- 
 tions of the day, came in to get acquainted with 
 the minister's wife. They came at all hours 
 and stayed until they had to go home to get 
 dinner or supper, or put the children to bed. 
 Sometimes a well-meaning woman came before 
 breakfast and stopped for half an hour. But 
 the favorite time seemed to be about the mid- 
 dle of the forenoon ; just when I was the busiest. 
 I took it all in good part, thinking it one of the 
 duties of a minister's wife to be agreeable and 
 make others happy. 
 
 At first my neighbors rang the front door 
 bell, as neighbors should; then they took to 
 knocking at the back door, and finally they walked 
 directly in, saying, as the door opened without 
 warning, " Its just me," or " Now, don't get up." 
 
 Almost all housekeepers like privacy, and I 
 do most heartily. When it comes to commu- 
 nity of homes I am decidedly conservative. So 
 is John. So was St. Paul when he enjoined 
 women to "be discreet, chaste keepers at 
 home." Whose home did he mean, their own 
 or their neighbor's home? 
 
 Now we are social, John and I. We like 
 company at the proper time. But the disor- 
 derly running out and in of neighbors, the pre- 
 suming upon a friend's courtesy, the idle, mo- 
 
 79
 
 We Receive Calls 
 
 tiveless calling that unemployed women so 
 often do, is not uplifting. One does not like to 
 be caught cleaning out the stove with a towel 
 pinned about one's head, nor brushing down 
 the dressers, nor dusting the parlor. In spite 
 of native politeness or acquired courtesy there 
 is an inward distress at such moments, and an 
 unexpressed wish that one's friends " would call 
 in the afternoon." 
 
 I tried to be sweet4empered and cordial to 
 my neighbors, even though their calling caused 
 delay in a hundred things, in spite of their oft= 
 repeated injunctions to " go right on now just 
 as if we wasn't here." I reasoned that these 
 were the customs of the village; besides I real- 
 ized that there is a sort of possession of the 
 minister and his whole family by all the flock, 
 or the flock take it for granted. 
 
 John suggested that an easy way out of the 
 trouble would be for me to " have a day." So I 
 wrote "Mondays" on the lower left-hand corner 
 of my visiting cards and believed it would work. 
 But it did not. Some came on Monday, but 
 the majority declared they wouldn't go to 
 see any woman " on her day." They " came 
 to see me," and they wanted to "catch me just 
 as I was." I needn't have a day on their ac- 
 count; they " could come any time." 
 
 They blindly refused to see that it was for my 
 80
 
 We Receive Calls 
 
 own convenience that I had " a day." Some of 
 my friends affected to take offense, declaring 
 that I was " putting on airs" and " trying to be 
 like city folk " in having a day on my card. 
 
 I could have got along with all this well 
 enough with my usual foolish excuse that I was 
 " helping John," but when it came to borrow- 
 ing, I needed a great deal of " grace " to over- 
 come my natural feelings. I had to think 
 about " John's work " a good deal before I was 
 resigned; but when I once gave up on this 
 point I did it heartily. John and I make it a 
 rule to borrow nothing. If we desire something 
 which is not at hand, we go without or wait till 
 we can buy it. This as a rule. But these peo- 
 ple to whom we had come as strangers seemed 
 to consider us and our belongings as their own. 
 There was no time, no household stuff, no per- 
 sonal strength, which was ours positively. 
 
 I do not think they intended to impose upon 
 us in any way. I am sure they did not. They 
 were simply uneducated in these points, as I have 
 since learned is the case with many admirable 
 people. Like many another minister's flock, 
 they simply presumed upon the minister's good 
 nature in a thoughtless sort of way. Did he 
 not belong to them? Did they not pay him 
 a salary? hence he and his wife and all their 
 personal effects were theirs. 
 
 81
 
 We Receive Calls 
 
 "Mother wants to know if she can borrow 
 some of the morning's milk; she'll pay it back 
 to=night." Or "Mother wants to borrow your 
 cutting shears." Or "Aunt Jane says, 'Will you 
 loan her some tea and a pan of flour ? '" These are 
 samples of the requests that came in at the kitch- 
 en door. Many a time have I loaned my thick 
 shawl or my best gloves or even John's overcoat 
 to parties going for a drive; and to the same par- 
 ties many times over. Thread, spoons, books, 
 the children's playthings, chairs, and garden 
 hose, each and all played their part in this neigh- 
 borly kindness. Most of the things were re- 
 turned in good shape, though invariably they 
 were retained for a longer time than had been ex- 
 pected, and sometimes I was obliged to send for 
 them. Often, I am sorry to say, in the matter 
 of butter, tea, flour, etc., inferior articles were 
 sent home to me. 
 
 This went on for a while and then our neigh- 
 bors came to borrowing me. Was anybody sick 
 in the village the minister's wife was sent for. 
 She was expected to leave her babies with the 
 minister, her dough in the pan, her dusting half 
 done, her new book half read, her letters unfin- 
 ished. She must sit up with the dying, lay out 
 the dead babies, stay with the family in their 
 hour of affliction, assist at births and funerals, 
 superintend the wedding cake and the bride's 
 
 82
 
 MOTHER WANTS TO BORROW SOME OF THE 
 MORNING'S MILK.
 
 We Receive Calls 
 
 trousseau; in short, the minister's wife was 
 "maid^of-all^work" in the church. 
 
 I would not mention all this if I did not know 
 that many a minister's wife has had a like expe- 
 rience; on a smaller scale, mayhap, but little less 
 realistic. 
 
 I never complained; I took it for granted in 
 some vague way that I was " helping John in his 
 work" to thus become a martyr. And yet in 
 what particular way all this was helping him I 
 never stopped to conjecture. In some mystical 
 way I was "bearing my cross." I "ought to be 
 glad of doing some good in the world" I argued, 
 while I thought of my neglected duties. "A 
 minister's wife has a great responsibility." 
 
 Yes, a great responsibility. In my case I was 
 responsible for the selfishness of my neighbors. 
 I was humoring their greed and covetousness. 
 I was myself unconsciously aiding them in 
 breaking the decalogue. I was robbing my fam- 
 ily of what they were entitled to my best self. 
 I kept these things to myself as far as was pos- 
 sible, not wishing to bother John, naturally, as 
 he had troubles of his own which I shall men- 
 tion another time. But when it came to my be- 
 ing absent from home three days in the week 
 and called up at midnight or at early dawn, of 
 course John began to look up the matter.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 I Begin to Look Like a Minister's 
 Wife 
 
 I was looking worn and haggard, thin in flesh 
 and generally " run do wn " as the saying is. I 
 noticed my forlorn appearance in the glass when 
 I brushed my hair that was catching its prema- 
 ture sprinkling of gray. I felt even worse than 
 I looked, so languid and weak, while ghostly 
 shades of "nervous prostration" gave me the 
 nightmare. I argued to myself: " That's the way 
 ministers' wives all look. It's right, I suppose, 
 that they should be worn out and grow old, 
 young. They have a mission, a field of labor, 
 and they ought not to think of themselves at all: 
 that would be selfish and hinder their husbands' 
 ministry." 
 
 One day John came in and found me getting 
 ready to go away with a neighbor who was wait- 
 ing in his carriage. 
 
 " Where are you going? " asked John. 
 
 "Why," I answered, "Mrs. Pliable's* little 
 
 *I have borrowed the names for this chapter from 
 "Pilgrim's Progress" to avoid saying Mrs. Smith or 
 Mrs. Jones too often. They will answer my purpose just 
 as well. 
 
 84
 
 I Look Like a Minister's Wife 
 
 Paul is very sick, indeed. The doctor says if he 
 lives at all it will be by the very best of nursing, 
 so they want me to come right over. I'll be 
 back in time for supper if I can, though I sup- 
 pose they'll want me to stay all night. I shall 
 take the baby with me." 
 
 "My dear," said John, "lay off your bonnet; 
 I will excuse you to Mr. Pliable," and he went 
 out to the gate. I could see the two gentlemen 
 from where I stood and also hear a part of their 
 conversation. 
 
 "My wife is not looking well," John said to 
 our neighbor. " Will you kindly excuse her to 
 Mrs. Pliable and say that we hope the best for 
 the child?" 
 
 "But," pleaded Mr. Pliable, " my wife is nearly 
 worn out and must have help. There is not a 
 nurse to be had for less than ten dollars a week 
 and they are scarce at that price. Our former 
 minister's wife always stayed with the sick and 
 afflicted." 
 
 " I am sorry," replied John, "but it is impossi- 
 ble." 
 
 Mr. Pliable rode away looking as if he had 
 met with sudden reverses, while John came back 
 to my room. 
 
 "You have acted as professional nurse for the 
 last time," he said. " You have lost your bloom 
 
 85
 
 I Look Like a Minister's Wife 
 
 and your step is heavy and slow. The children 
 look unhappy and forlorn, as if they had lost 
 their mother. As for myself I must have been 
 asleep. I was busy and abstracted, inexcusably 
 so, or I would have seen how things were going. 
 Now put on your bonnet again and take a drive 
 with me." 
 
 I did so most gladly; I had not taken a drive 
 with John for a month. The breeze was in- 
 vigorating and the sense of somebody coining be- 
 tween me and my deformed sense of duty was 
 most refreshing. Still I felt a trifle ill at ease, 
 for little Paul might die in the night and I be 
 needed. My conscience, so long used to being 
 gauged by the demands of others, reproached 
 me, and I ventured to say to John: "I might 
 have gone for to-day. I don't like to offend 
 those good people, nor to be a drawback to you 
 in your work. I want to be your helpmeet and 
 I am afraid this sudden refusal will be an injury 
 to you, dear." 
 
 "An injury tome!" John echoed, and he 
 laughed heartily. " I had no intention of bring- 
 ing my wife here to be a nurse and undertaker 
 and maid=of-all-work for people in well-to-do 
 circumstances who have no more conception of 
 what is right and just than to ask you to do all 
 this. Even if you were thoughtless enough to 
 offer to do it they should not accept. I wonder 
 86
 
 I Look Like a Minister's Wife 
 
 whence sprang the idea that a minister's wife is 
 the perquisite of his flock, and who was respon- 
 sible for the first female martyr in this line?" 
 
 "I don't know," I said, suddenly bereft of 
 what I had considered good and sufficient rea- 
 sons in time past. " Perhaps it was the custom 
 of the early church. You know we are con- 
 stantly finding out new things that the early 
 church did. Paul said ' help those women who 
 labored with us.' I suppose they had worn 
 themselves out in helping take care of the sick 
 and doing good generally. But aside from the 
 early church, John, it must have been the orig- 
 inal intention when Eve was created for a ' help= 
 meet ' for her husband." 
 
 " You emphasize the wrong word," John 
 replied. " You should say help-meet, not help- 
 meet. People mostly, even women themselves, 
 italicise the help and so they go on doing what 
 they have no right nor calling to do. Eve was to 
 be a helpmeet for Adam, not a helpmeet for 
 the whole thoughtless neighborhood. How can 
 you be a help to me when you are tired and 
 worn with other people's affairs? A minister's 
 wife has as much right to personality as any 
 other woman, and more. Where is my over- 
 coat? The wind changes." " Oh," I said, " Mrs. 
 By-ends borrowed it last week. Her husband 
 was going to the beach and his coat was not ex- 
 87
 
 I Look Like a Minister's Wife 
 
 actly the right weight, but they promised to 
 bring it back in a week or two. I had forgotten 
 all about it." 
 
 " I suppose," said John," that the Feeble=minds 
 have your warm shawl, and the Dare ; not-lies 
 your bread pans, and the Ready4o-halts your 
 baby carriage. We will see about this." 
 
 When we got home John came in and took an 
 inventory of household stock. It was as he had 
 surmised. Almost every other thing in the kitch- 
 en department was loaned and a good deal of 
 the clothing besides. 
 
 " This will never do," John said. 
 
 "Why, John!" I exclaimed, very much sur- 
 prised, " does it not say in the Sermon on the 
 Mount, ' Give to him that asketh of thee and 
 from him that would borrow of thee turn not 
 thou away?' And again, 'If any man sue thee 
 at the law and take away thy coat give him thy 
 cloak also? ' How could I be obedient to 
 this plain scripture=teaching if I refused to loan 
 anything or even to give away if I were asked? 
 We are to give everything asked of us. The 
 words are plain and cannot mean anything else 
 than what they say. Here is the Bible. Read it 
 and see." 
 
 John read at the place I had turned to. 
 " If any man will sue thee at the law and take 
 away thy coat let him have thy cloak also," and 
 88
 
 I Look Like a Minister's Wife 
 
 " Give to him that asketh of thee and from him 
 that would borrow of thee turn not thou away." 
 I felt sure that I had quoted the texts correctly 
 and I was glad for John to see that I had acted 
 conscientiously in the matter. 
 
 " Now," said John, " let us study this point 
 and see how it stands. Jesus was bringing up 
 some items in the old law. These could not but be 
 familiar to the disciples. We will turn to Deut. 
 xv. 8, 11. It is a command that we be pitiful to 
 the poor and needy. ' Thou shalt not harden 
 thy heart nor shut thy hand from thy poor brother, 
 but thou shalt open thy hand wide unto him, and 
 thou shalt surely lend him sufficient for his need 
 in that which he wanteth. For the poor shall 
 never cease out of the land, therefore I com- 
 mand thee saying thou shalt open thy hand 
 wide unto thy brother, to thy poor, and to thy 
 needy in thy land.' 
 
 " Now let us turn to Luke, sixth chapter, where 
 the Master explains his meaning: 'If ye lend 
 to them of whom ye hope to receive, what thank 
 have ye? for sinners also lend to sinners, to re- 
 ceive as much again. But love ye your enemies 
 and do good, and lend hoping for nothing again.' 
 
 " There seem but two classes to whom it is 
 our duty to lend, the poor and our enemies. 
 Our enemies are not likely to ask for a loan, and 
 as for the other class, ' He that giveth to the
 
 I Look Like a Minister's Wife 
 
 poor lendeth to the Lord.' If one whom we 
 know to be our enemy were in need we might 
 win him by the offer of a loan. He will not ask 
 the favor. It is we who must make the ad- 
 vance." 
 
 "As to giving one's coat away there is good 
 ground for that, under conditions. If a man 
 sue thee at the law, if thou hast wronged any 
 man to so great an extent that he may have re- 
 course to the law, and so the justice of his com- 
 plaint is made clear, give him more than restitu- 
 tion. Double the sum which was his by right, 
 thereby confessing thy own sin and making it 
 possible for you to love each other as you never 
 could if thou hadst not given thy cloak also. 
 It is impossible for two parties to meet on this 
 ground and maintain the old resentment. How 
 many have had recourse to the law, and when at 
 last justice has settled the claims there is enmi- 
 ty! Hate and evil are in either heart. Spite 
 rules out the Christian graces. There is hardly 
 a community where such a condition does not 
 exist. There may have been recourse to arbi- 
 tration instead of to the civil courts, but in 
 either case there has been 'suing at the law.' 
 If the party at fault would go to his brother and 
 say: 'You have taken my coat, I acknowledge it 
 to be yours; here is my cloak also; let it be a 
 pledge of peace between us,' how different 
 99
 
 I Look Like a Minister's Wife 
 
 would be the result! In many cases the origi- 
 nal 'coat' would be returned. We do sorely 
 need the giving of the 'cloak,' tho meeting more 
 than half way in a dispute, the tangible evi- 
 dence of that measure of love which ' giveth all 
 things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.' 
 " How we fall far short of understanding the 
 Master as if he meant that Mr. By-ends should 
 borrow my overcoat and hasten its already 
 threadbare condition! Mr. By-ends is wel!4o= 
 do, better able to lend to me than I to him. Be- 
 cause he asks my overcoat, shall I hasten to offer 
 him my other clothing? The question asked so 
 long ago by one who would shirk his duties and 
 have Jehovah's sanction for all the race is a mo- 
 mentous question now: 'Am I my brother's 
 keeper?' Yes, a hundred times over. My 
 brother is what I keep him. I will not keep 
 him a beggar." 
 
 91
 
 CHAPTEK XIII 
 My Neighbors Stop Borrowing 
 
 I saw that John was getting the best of the 
 argument; but I liked to prolong it as much as 
 possible, so I said: " But just think of offending 
 these people. They will leave the church per- 
 haps if we are disobliging, or lend their influ- 
 ence against you. Better to keep the peace at 
 all hazards. Mr. By-ends is an officer of the 
 church, you know." 
 
 " These people to whom you are loaning your 
 best things do not thank you," John replied. 
 " They esteem you less highly than if you re- 
 fused. There is no truer aphorism than Shake- 
 speare's own: 'Neither a borrower nor a lend- 
 er be, for loan oft loses both itself and friend, 
 and borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.' 
 The borrowing system has ruined many a friend- 
 ship. It is degrading to both the borrower and 
 lender. Give to the poor always, and when by 
 stress of necessity they would cover their alms* 
 needing by the request of a loan, we will lend to 
 them hoping for nothing again, respecting their 
 desire to make returns, of course. ' He that giv- 
 eth to the poor lendeth to the Lord.' I would 
 
 92
 
 My Neighbors Stop Borrowing 
 
 make a parallel passage for that and write, ' He 
 that lendeth to the rich honoreth not the 
 Lord.' " 
 
 Just then the door opened and our neighbor, 
 Mrs. Light=o-mind, appeared with her three 
 children. (I shall continue to borrow from 
 Bunyan until I am done with this subject.) 
 She said, "Good morning," and asked if I would 
 " take care of the little ones " while she went to 
 the city, She " would get home before dark if 
 possible," and " would I excuse their appear- 
 ance?" she had "brought them just as they 
 were without changing their clothes." 
 
 I sighed and said, " Certainly," as I had so of- 
 ten done before in the case of many of my 
 neighbors' children. The fact is, I had kept a 
 small orphan asylum on demand and cared for 
 neglected children, feeling in this, as in 
 other matters, that I was "helping John." 
 
 John looked at Mrs. Light-of-mind and then 
 at me and then at the three untidy children 
 Then he said: "Mrs. Light= of = mind, will you 
 kindly excuse my wife to-day? She is over- 
 worked, I fear. You see she is generous to a 
 fault, and I shall have to persuade her to be 
 content with caring for me and the children." 
 
 Again I felt my burdens lightened and a grat- 
 ifying sense of having a protector between me 
 and imposition. At the same time my long ; 
 
 93
 
 My Neighbors Stop Borrowing 
 
 schooled but misplaced conception of benevo- 
 lence was a little shocked. My neighbor went 
 her way and John went his into the study. 
 
 Well, I left off loaning except to the poor. It 
 required no small ingenuity sometimes to break 
 myself and my neighbors of the habit. As I 
 intimated, the article returned was at times defi- 
 cient in quality and so we had been the losers. 
 I was helped a trifle by a hint from an aunt of 
 mine. It is a pity to record so undignified an 
 action on the part of a minister's wife, but it's 
 the truth, and so I tell it. 
 
 When Mrs. Ignorance brought back some tea 
 which she had borrowed and I knew it was not 
 the same that we were using, I simply set it up 
 in the cupboard. 
 
 The next time Mrs. Ignorance ran in to bor- 
 row a little tea for supper I took down her old 
 stock, and in a perfectly innocent way handed it 
 to her, saying: " Certainly; here is the last you 
 brought me; I haven't had occasion to use it." 
 She took it with a slight change of color and did 
 not borrow again. 
 
 It was the same with many other things but- 
 ter, eggs, flour and sugar. No one could com- 
 plain if I loaned them their own stock. In some 
 cases I no longer had some " to spare" of a de- 
 sired article, and in others, as with clothing and 
 household utensils, we were "going to use them 
 
 94
 
 My Neighbors Stop Borrowing 
 
 ourselves." It did not take so very long to turn 
 over a new leaf and everybody was the gainer. 
 Nor did I give offense. I had a good-natured, 
 merry sort of manner that smoothed many a 
 rough place. 
 
 It is remarkable the amount of borrowing that 
 is done, especially among rural people. They 
 will borrow a thing from a neighbor wholivesas 
 far away as the grocery store out of sheer habit. 
 The pity of it is, innocent little children are usu- 
 ally the operators. "Here, Jennie, borrow 
 this," or "Here, Johnnie, borrow that" brings 
 up a child in the way its mother goes. And so 
 we have races of borrowers. I mean generations, 
 not races. 
 
 I often told John he had better borrow his 
 sermons from some source and so be on the 
 common plane. But John said that was "mean- 
 er than borrowing flour and butter." 
 
 As to having so many callers at odd hours from 
 people with no intention but to kill time, John 
 said I must have it understood that "except on 
 three afternoons in the week I was not at home 
 to miscellaneous company." He had a screen 
 with locked door placed around the back en- 
 trance, and this gave me my kitchen undisturbed. 
 How much more free I felt, and how much more 
 an independent woman ! I regained lost strength 
 and grew young and plump again. I had time 
 
 95
 
 My Neighbors Stop Borrowing 
 
 to ride horseback and attend lectures and romp 
 with the children. T wrote an occasional squib 
 for the papers, too, for which I received many a 
 dollar from good=natured editors. In short, I 
 became light-hearted and free. I lost that re- 
 semblance to the ordinary minister's wife which 
 had distinguished me the year before. 
 
 If this allusion to a very personal experience 
 chances to fall before the notice of a well-mean- 
 ing, but too much engrossed minister, let him 
 take two looks at his wife the next time they sit 
 down to tea. And if that minister's congrega- 
 tion happens to cast their eyes upon the page be- 
 fore me, let them also take two looks at the min- 
 ister's wife. All these looks combined may 
 startle the lady, but results are what we work 
 for. 
 
 96
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 Abijah Noseworthy's Wild Oats 
 
 During the interval when the church at Sun- 
 rise Park had no pastor, individual members 
 kept up the prayer=meeting. Now, a prayer^ 
 meeting conducted without a recognized leader, 
 or by a self-appointed leader, is sometimes a 
 thing of distinction. John doubted the wisdom 
 of keeping up such a prayer=meeting, especially 
 when the meeting is held in the church as a pub- 
 lic affair. A house-to-house prayer-meeting is 
 different. There is a host, who, with some re- 
 sponsibility is temporary leader, and a meeting of 
 this sort approaches nearer the original type. 
 
 At Sunrise Park the weekly prayer^meeting 
 came to be a curious institution. Its tolerated 
 leader was Abijah Nose worthy. He was the law 
 personified. If humanity had justice meted out to 
 it, in his opinion, it would be committed to " end- 
 less pangs " excepting himself, and, when he 
 felt especially magnanimous, a few others. He 
 was the "main stand-by" in prayer^meeting. 
 The meeting never "dragged," as the saying is, 
 when he was there. 
 
 97
 
 Abijah Noseworthy's Wild Oats 
 
 How well I remember him! Sharp-featured, 
 keen^eyed, a trifle nervous, of firm and emphatic 
 convictions concerning himself, and sometimes 
 concerning others. His eye wandered, or rather 
 dwelt upon every individual before him as if he 
 read them. A happy tone of voice, a trustful, 
 hopeful prayer, was sure to be followed by a tes- 
 timony from Abijah Noseworthy . And Abi jah's 
 testimonies had grown exceedingly personal. 
 When he rose to speak he waved his handker- 
 chief as if it were a signal to warn other barks 
 off the coast. He'd " been there." But he was 
 "safely over." He always pointed to a time in 
 the " far-distant past" with a twirl of his thumb 
 over his right shoulder, when he had been " the 
 chief of sinners." 
 
 It was such a long while ago when Abijah 
 Noseworthy was a sinner that one would think 
 the years might have buried it in mercy to his 
 hearers if not to himself. It was in the " far- 
 away past" that Abijah, according to his own 
 testimony, had "sown his wild oats." He had 
 "dipped into the very dregs of sin" to use his 
 own words. I took occasion to inquire into the 
 early history of the man from sheer curiosity, 
 not thinking it possible that such a sinner as he 
 averred himself to have been could have been 
 born and brought up in Sunrise Park. I was 
 assured by more than one veteran as old as 
 98
 
 Abijah Noseworthy's Wild Oats 
 
 Abijah that he was the son of a deacon, or elder, 
 or some other dignified church official, and that 
 he had been reared in extreme religious severity. 
 He had never been twenty miles from his birth- 
 place, and, to the knowledge of none of his con- 
 temporaries, had he ever swerved from the "path 
 of rectitude." 
 
 Abijah had never alluded to his " apprentice- 
 ship to the devil" as he termed it until he was 
 past sixty. Then, during some revival services 
 when rival testimony was being given of a 
 gruesome type, he suddenly remembered what a 
 sinner he had been. 
 
 Whether it was an overwhelming conviction 
 that in some way he had been cheated out of 
 the good times he ought to have had, or that he 
 had been reading the " Power of Religion " and 
 imagined himself to have been in early life a 
 Cardinal Wolsey or a John Wilmot, we never 
 knew. He would rise in prayer-meeting and de- 
 clare that he had been "worse than anybody 
 present." This was news to his friends, and at 
 first it shocked them. Abijah held up his 
 hands in holy horror of himself. He would put 
 into the densest shade the last speaker who had 
 timidly alluded to his own past sinful career. 
 
 " I've been a worse sinner than any of you!" 
 Abijah would exclaim, as if he had suddenly 
 discovered the one thing in which he had ex- 
 
 99
 
 Abijah Noseworthy's Wild Oats 
 
 celled. " I've been the blackest of sinners, I 
 say; I was steeped in sin; given over to the ad- 
 versary; a victim to every sort of wickedness; 
 of every sort, I say." 
 
 As time and opportunity continued, Abijah 
 went more into details. He told of how he had 
 been "lost, utterly lost"; and finally of his 
 conversion " in the ball=room." Now, the sug- 
 gestion of Abijah Noseworthy's ever having in- 
 dulged in the mazes of the dance, more than 
 once caused a smile to ripple over the faces of 
 the young folks and even the elders exchanged 
 inquiring glances. When he recounted his ad- 
 ventures in a " gambling hell," the plot was of 
 so common and modern a type that distrust was 
 plainly written upon every face. 
 
 Suddenly breaking away from the "black 
 past " Abijah would straighten himself and, 
 gazing into the far corner of the sanctuary, ex- 
 claim with grave, slow pathos: " But look at me 
 now, my friends! lam a spared monument a 
 spared monument!" 
 
 A curious-looking monument certainly was 
 Abijah Noseworthy. Still he was like a monu- 
 ment, come to think of it, for the history of his 
 sins welded so into his peculiar personal ap- 
 pearance made a lasting memorial of him. 
 
 The apparent pride with which he spoke of 
 his sinful career was noticeable. I fancy that if 
 xoo
 
 Abijah Noseworthy's Wild Oats 
 
 any one of his hearers had alluded to the man 
 as a victim of early vice, Abijah would scarcely 
 have acquiesced. He was fond of the contrast 
 which he knew by practice so well to make* be- 
 tween his imagined " dark past " and his pres- 
 ent status. He was " the hardest case " in my 
 opinion that we met with in the new church so 
 self-complacent; so righteous by comparison; 
 so devoid of charity towards others. But John 
 was hopeful even of him. 
 
 By degrees the prayer-meeting took on new 
 shape. John suggested that if any of us had 
 sinned we had better forgive ourselves if we had 
 been forgiven, and not allude to a past which, 
 in the sight of heaven, was as though it had 
 never been. " Shame," he said, " ought to make 
 a man reticent on some points. It is enough 
 that we all have sinned. Keeping ourselves 
 and our neighbors continually in mind of our 
 sins by recounting them is only second to prac- 
 ticing them." 
 
 John thought that personal testimony in 
 prayer-meeting has its temptations. He doubted 
 the expediency of frequent allusions to one's 
 personal feelings outside of an occasional refer- 
 ence to the continuance of one's faith. If one 
 feels happy, one's neighbors will notice. Hap- 
 piness or "low spirits" very much depends 
 upon digestion. One's feelings are no criterion 
 
 101
 
 Abijah Noseworthy's Wild Oats 
 
 as to an exemplary life. The fact that a man is 
 peaceful is no proof that he is holy. 
 
 If one becomes possessed of a sanctified 
 heart and life the community will recognize the 
 fact as surely as they know that spring has 
 come. It needs no testimony of the lips to con- 
 vince them. Holiness is luminous of itself; to 
 allude to the possession of it too frequently 
 puts one in a position to be contradicted. It is 
 as if one feared adverse testimony. 
 
 To testify as to another's holy life is a differ- 
 ent thing. " Let us have more testimony of 
 this sort in prayer-meeting," John would say. 
 " We are all bad enough ; none of us is good 
 enough. By their fruits ye shall know them; 
 not by what they say." 
 
 The personal pronoun "I" should, for the 
 most part, be relegated to the "closet." 
 
 102
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 Silas Coombs and Death-bed Scenes 
 
 There was another character at Sunrise Park, 
 the exact opposite of Abi jah Noseworthy. Silas 
 Coombs was a sunny, hopeful man, of sweet faith 
 and glowing Christianity. He never alluded to 
 his own sins nor to those of anybody else. It 
 is doubtful if he had ever committed any great 
 sins; and it is certain that, in his presence, 
 others forgot their own. To make a man forget 
 his sins is almost equal to making him forsake 
 his sins. By thinking about one's sins over* 
 much one exaggerates them as he also can 
 his virtues. To turn away from sin is not to 
 have it in mind any more. 
 
 In prayer-meeting Silas Coombs was a burn- 
 ing and a shining light. Everybody loved him; 
 the giddy and forward most of all. Did any 
 member discourse upon the sorrows of life and 
 the "purifying influence of grief," Silas Coombs 
 was sure to put a bright side upon it all. 
 " Sometimes I am afraid I am a sinner let alone," 
 he said. "Seems as though I never had any 
 trouble. The sun has been always shining." 
 
 103
 
 Silas Coombs and Death=bed Scenes 
 
 And yet we all knew that he had seen many 
 sorrows. 
 
 I believe Silas Coombs led more people to the 
 "light" than an ordinary minister, and yet he 
 never preached a sermon. He never prayed in 
 meeting neither, except as he said the Lord's 
 Prayer with the rest. But he must have done 
 a great deal of praying out of meeting, and he 
 prayed with others, too. He would go to the 
 woods nutting, or fishing with the boys. With 
 one boy he would happen to stroll away from 
 the rest, and before the boy knew it he and Silas 
 Coombs would be kneeling on some mossy bank 
 together. It was a surprise to the boy, I am 
 sure, though how far Silas Coombs had contrived 
 the plot nobody knew. It was a picture the 
 gray=haired man, little and bent of figure, but 
 cheery of face, taking a day's outing with the 
 boys just as if he were a boy himself. Nobody 
 will ever know till the "books are opened" how 
 much that neighborhood owed to Silas Coombs. 
 
 He visited the dying with a defined, certain 
 joy in his face that must have daunted Death 
 with its very surety of hope. Often he was 
 sent for, and asked to come, as if his presence 
 were a sort of challenge to the grim messenger. 
 And he always went, hymn-book in hand. No 
 matter whether the person about to pass away 
 were conscious or not, there stood Silas singing 
 
 104
 
 Silas Coombs and Death=bed Scenes 
 
 the Boul away as if the final issue depended 
 upon his faithfulness. 
 
 He seldom asked any questions, but, as he ex- 
 pressed it, " hoped for the best." He was an 
 old-fashioned singer and the words of the 
 ancient tunes were clear. 
 
 " On Jordan's stormy banks I stand," floated 
 out at open windows without a quaver. There 
 was assurance in the voice as if " Canaan's fair 
 and happy land " came down to meet " Jordan's 
 stormy banks " on the near side. It came to be 
 a saying: "If Silas Coombs was there the boat- 
 man pale waited with his hat off on the farther 
 bank while Silas bore the dying one across and 
 deposited him bodily in ' sweet fields beyond 
 the swelling flood '." 
 
 John used to say that when he came to die he 
 wanted Silas Coombs to take him over. 
 " When thou passest through the waters I will 
 be with thee." It is possible for Him to be 
 with thee in the person of Silas Coombs or 
 some other singing saint. Silas will not be on 
 this side to take John over, for he went across 
 himself years ago, too weak to sing but John 
 sang for him. At the close of the lines " Could 
 we but stand where Moses stood and view the 
 landscape o'er " John stopped, for the look on 
 Silas' calm face assured him that the old man 
 was there in advance of the " flood." 
 
 105
 
 Silas Coombs and Death=bed Scenes 
 
 Abijah Noseworthy was also often at the side 
 of the sick and dying, though he was seldom 
 sent for. With his long and disconsolate face 
 he would go gloomily into the sick=room, ap- 
 proach the bedside, sigh, sit down resignedly, 
 and read the account of Dives and Lazarus, 
 dwelling on the torment of Dives with a start- 
 ling moderation. He always expressed little 
 hope for a happy hereafter, and if he found a 
 dying man hopeful he cautioned him against 
 " feeling too sure, " as it was quite " possible for 
 a person to be deceived." 
 
 One day Rachel Waterbury came in to ask 
 John to visit the widow Overman's son. He 
 was dying " in great trouble and despair," she 
 said. Abijah Noseworthy had been there and 
 extinguished the last flicker of possibility. 
 
 The young man had been something of a 
 prodigal in his late youth, though in his child- 
 hood he was gentle and prayerful and full of a 
 child's sweet faith. Away from home " thieves 
 had fallen upon him." He had been wasting in 
 health for a long while and was depressed in 
 mind beyond description. As a culmination of 
 his present troubles Abijah Noseworthy had 
 crossed his path. This " father in Israel " had 
 conscientiously bereft him of what his mother 
 had ardently hoped would be graciously his in 
 a dying hour. John went immediately to see 
 106
 
 Silas Coombs and Death=bed Scenes 
 
 the young man. The mother met him at the 
 door in an agony of feeling. Her eyes were 
 tearless and so full of unspoken sorrow that 
 John said he could have wept at sight of her. 
 The young man was propped against the pil- 
 lows, his great sparkling eyes looking out of the 
 window and across the river which meandered 
 softly through the fields. 
 
 " I am going," he murmured, " without God 
 and without hope. He says I have sinned away 
 my day of grace. It is written ' My Spirit shall 
 not always strive with man.' It is what I 
 deserve, and yet, and yet 
 
 What he would have said was hindered by his 
 coughing. " And yet," John said, as if it had 
 been himself that was talking, " Jesus Christ 
 came to give us something better than we de- 
 serve. Who says that you have sinned away 
 your day of grace, my brother?" 
 
 The young man looked up. " Why, the Bible 
 says it, and that good man says it, and my own 
 heart says it. I feel it. I know it. I cannot 
 even pray; there is no light." 
 
 "Has Abijah Noseworthy prayed for you?" 
 asked John. 
 
 "No," was the reply, "he said he 'couldn't 
 pray the way I was feeling.' He said there 
 wasn't much doubt I was lost, according to my 
 own testimony. As the tree falls, there it will 
 
 107
 
 Silas Coombs and Death=bed Scenes 
 
 lie. He that is unjust let him be unjust still. 
 Mother, go away." 
 
 Mrs. Overman was like a being without mus- 
 cle or power of movement. She stood, straining 
 her eyes at John and clutching at the footboard 
 in the agony of mother-love. " My sister, let us 
 pray," said John. She knelt with him mechan- 
 ically. 
 
 "Our Father," John said, "make thyself 
 known to this thy trustless child. Cast out the 
 demon of doubt and bid him rise even to heaven. 
 Thou art our Father his Father. Make him 
 assured that when the veil of his flesh is drawn 
 aside he shall see Thee without his flesh; with- 
 out the sin which has mortified the flesh; without 
 the despair which the very weakness of the flesh 
 has made him heir to. Thou dost love him. 
 Far back in his childhood he was Thy child and 
 of such the Lord himself has said, ' They shall 
 never perish; they are in My hand.' Hold him 
 in Thy hand." And then John read in low, 
 calm tones, that marvelous fifty=third chapter of 
 Isaiah: "Wounded for our transgressions, 
 bruised for our iniquities. All we, like sheep, 
 have gone astray. . . . For the transgres- 
 sion of my people was he stricken. . . . No 
 deceit in his mouth. . . . He shall bear their 
 iniquities. . . . He bore the sin of many." 
 
 108
 
 Silas Coombs and Death=bed Scenes 
 
 Then John told the sick man to go to sleep 
 and rest a while and he would come again in 
 the morning. 
 
 John was so cheerful through and through 
 that he infected this young man, naturally. 
 Those who are already sick are so susceptible to 
 infection. They take everything that is offered 
 them from sheer inability to reject it. It was 
 not long before doubt and despair were bound- 
 ing away in the distance like wolves pursued. 
 
 "How can anyone help having faith in 
 Jesus," John said, " when Jesus, by the very 
 gift of himself, proved his faith in man? Christ 
 did not doubt that the world would be saved. 
 How then can that world doubt the power of 
 Christ to save?" "And what is faith to a hu- 
 man heart if it cannot itself make faith for an- 
 other? I will have faith for you," John said. 
 " You are in pain. You have been so long in 
 pain that you have forgotten what it is to be 
 well. You can think of nothing but that pain 
 and its counterpart, the evil which was in you 
 for so long. You are weary alike of the sin and 
 the pain. You are sorry for the sin; it makes 
 the pain sharper. But see, Jesus Christ came 
 into the world to save sinners. Let Him bear 
 away your sin in His own way; in His own 
 way He will also bear away the pain. Trust 
 
 109
 
 Silas Coombs and Death=bed Scenes 
 
 Him, and when the pain and the sin are both 
 gone you will clasp hands with Jesus and go 
 singing of faith forever." 
 
 And so John held the light while Frank Over- 
 man went over the river. Just before he stepped 
 down the gentle slope he turned to his mother 
 and said: " It's all right," and John echoed, " It's 
 all right." 
 
 no
 
 JOHN HELD THE LIGHT WHILE FRANK OVERMAN WENT OVER 
 THE RIVER.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 The Church has a Revival 
 
 
 
 As to "death^bed repentances" John says a 
 man ought to be ashamed who doubts. That 
 someone repents on his supposed death^bed, re- 
 covers, and repents that he did repent, is no rea- 
 son for anyone to conclude that the repentance 
 was not genuine. Such an excuse is brought up 
 again and again by men who are too narrow to 
 admit of widening. Had the repentant passed 
 on into the certainty of sight he would have been 
 remorseful that his repentance was so tardy. 
 Instead of passing on into perfect sight he tar- 
 ried in the same condition that had blinded 
 him in the past. It is the vision of to-day that 
 moves most of us to repent to-day. " Lord re- 
 member me," cried the thief in the extremity of 
 despair. And the answer came swiftly, outrun- 
 ning the despair, " To-day thou shalt be with Me 
 in Paradise." To-morrow the pain and weakness 
 and revolt of the flesh might postpone faith. 
 Another day, when there is no to-morrow for the 
 flesh, faith will be born never to die. 
 
 As to " dying in one's sins " John says we 
 have no right to pass judgment in a single case, 
 ill
 
 The Church has a Revival 
 
 Someone has said that dying is like climbing to 
 a mountain top. Almost out of breath in the as- 
 cent, quite out of breath at the summit, the 
 traveler falls on his face deaf to our cries, dumb 
 as to the expression of his own thoughts. We, 
 waiting in the valley below, conclude that the 
 ascent has wrought no change because, forsooth, 
 we did not note it. We would fain climb, too, 
 but we cannot now. We shall have our turn by 
 and by and alone. 
 
 Waiting, below the mountain, we have no right 
 to say of the receding soul, "He sees nothing; he 
 feels nothing," simply that his sight and speech 
 are sealed to us. What he sees beyond the 
 crest, what he hears from the other side, we may 
 not know; it is his secret. John says "a second 
 is time enough to ravish the sight when the film 
 of the flesh is falling like scales from eyes that 
 have never seen." He would never preach any 
 soul into despair because men could see only 
 despair. His comrades and the church folk had 
 known the thief all his life. They "knew he 
 had never repented." They were away about 
 their own affairs when he died. They did not 
 hear the little word that passed between him and 
 heaven on the mountain crest. And they would 
 no doubt disbelieve the record when they saw 
 it. "Haven't we known that man?" they would 
 say. "As the tree falls, there will it lie." "My 
 112
 
 The Church has a Revival 
 
 Spirit shall not always strive with man." "That 
 thief has sinned out his day of grace. He al- 
 ways ridiculed us when we wanted to talk with 
 him about his soul." 
 
 We forget that " the secret of the Lord is with 
 men," dying men, perhaps. We would deny 
 others the " secret " because we ourselves have 
 not participated. The " bread and water of life " 
 may be rejected for very lack of hunger until 
 the last moment. We deny that they may be 
 partaken of, because perchance they are not tak- 
 en from our hand. " Stolen water is sweet and 
 bread eaten in secret is pleasant." The water 
 of life, stolen, snatched from receding oppor- 
 tunity; the bread of life eaten in the narrow pas- 
 sage betwixt two worlds may be very " pleasant," 
 and that late communion seal the covenant. 
 
 Not that John recommended death-bed repent- 
 ance to anyone who had time for other. He 
 would only make the church more charitable, 
 less certain of despair for those who die and 
 leave no sign. "There shall no sign be given 
 unto them " in some cases. There is a sort of 
 religious conceit in the way some sober people 
 cant their heads and look hopeless, and say of 
 someone, " I have talked with him a great many 
 times and I never got any satisfaction. Let it 
 be a warning to others." Usually such men are 
 arbitrary. They mete out justice to their little 
 
 113
 
 The Church has a Revival 
 
 children with a swing of the switch, their wives 
 are continually reminded " that they are to be 
 subject to their own husbands," and in church 
 affairs they meet backsliders with threats. Be- 
 ing full of conceit themselves, and arbitrary, 
 they imagine the Heavenly Father to be like 
 them. 
 
 The first winter we were at Sunrise Park the 
 church people proposed a revival. Revivals were 
 in the air. There was one in almost every church 
 and it seemed natural that we should have one, 
 too. John acquiesced, but not cordially. He is 
 conservative on the revival question. He says 
 it is " the Lord's work whenever a soul seeks the 
 light," but the credit is given to Brothers So= 
 and=So who have a great reputation as revival- 
 ists. 
 
 Well, we had the revival. The "Evangelist" 
 in charge was a youngish man of some ability 
 and undoubted Christian experience. But he 
 labored under mistakes. John is looking over 
 my shoulder and says kindly that I "ought to 
 be very careful in speaking of this young man, 
 for some of his descendants may be living and 
 they would take it to heart if I criticised too 
 sharply. Besides, it is like putting one's hand 
 to 'steady the ark' when one attempts to speak 
 of revivals. One is apt to go too far and say 
 what had better not be said." 
 
 1U
 
 IT WAS AS IF HE WAS "TAKING STOCK.
 
 The Church has a Revival 
 
 Now, with all due respect for John, and the 
 hope that I shall not offend one of the "de- 
 scendants" referred to, I am going to tell all 
 about that revival. I believe in revivals but 
 not in some ways of conducting them. I do 
 not mean to be sweeping, however. 
 
 The day and hour came. The " Evangelist " 
 took his seat and let his eye dwell upon the 
 faces before him. It was as if he were " taking 
 stock," so to speak. He seemed to be calculat- 
 ing how many " assistants " he might expect 
 from the somewhat varied sea of faces, expectant, 
 incredulous, sombre, resigned, and repellent. 
 After due preliminaries he proceeded to inform 
 his hearers that at the last place where he " la- 
 bored " he had been the means of saving forty- 
 two souls. " The humble means," he added in 
 parentheses. He then appealed to " the saved " 
 to come boldly out arid " help " him. " As 
 many as were willing to do so would please 
 stand on their feet." 
 
 Now, this " Evangelist " was a stranger in the 
 place. How could he know that two- thirds of 
 " the saved " who pledged themselves to "help " 
 him that day were men and women of little rep- 
 utation? But so it was. To be sure there were 
 no very "black sheep" among them; that is, 
 tqey were not criminals in the common sense; 
 and they were church members, Yet they were 
 U5
 
 The Church has a Revival 
 
 defective in reputation. Some of them were, 
 or had been recently, " a little off," as the say- 
 ing is, on " side issues." They had dipped into 
 " Christian Science," tried " Spiritualism," been 
 disciples of the last "Faith Cure," or turned 
 prophets as to coming " religious wars " and the 
 speedy " end of the world." A few had per- 
 mitted the temptations of business life to sear 
 their consciences by way of small gains that 
 had better not have been. Other few were 
 " kicking against the pricks " by way of avoid- 
 ing small debts and minor obligations trifles to 
 be sure, but sufficient to soil " the white robe of 
 a child of Jesus." 
 
 Like such people in many another community 
 these were first to pledge themselves to " help " 
 the Evangelist. Had he been the teacher of 
 any "new doctrine" it would have been the 
 same. There are eager souls who are ready to 
 be " filled with new wine " of whatsoever sort. 
 Patched up for the occasion these " old bottles " 
 are not recognized by the Evangelist and so 
 " the wine of the kingdom " is " spilled." Of 
 course, the more dignified, substantial, always^ 
 the-same church members knew at a glance that 
 they " couldn't work with that crowd," and so 
 they kept their seats. If that Evangelist had 
 known as much of human nature as he ought to 
 have known he would have asked the first 
 US
 
 The Church has a Revival 
 
 volunteers to fall back and bear the cross in the 
 rear. The very persons who kept their seats 
 and hence were the subjects of severe censure 
 as being "cold," "lukewarm," "doubting 
 Thomases," etc., were really the " backbone " of 
 that church. They knew very well that the 
 Evangelist had made his first mistake, but to 
 rectify it was impossible. 
 
 However, there were " conversions " and 
 " higher experiences." No one but the Evan- 
 gelist knew exactly how many; he kept a strict 
 account. He thought he was counting right, 
 but how could he know that nearly all of those 
 "higher experiences" claimed under his per- 
 suasive reign had been in the possession of the 
 same claimants off and on for years? They kept 
 them, like their best clothes, to bring out and 
 dust up and wear every time a revival came 
 their way. Yes, indeed! There were people in 
 our church who always had " higher experi- 
 ences." 
 
 The Evangelist every now and then alluded 
 to the "stars" he wanted for his "crown." And 
 he already had a good many. He was like the 
 quack doctors who cure cases given up by " the 
 best physicians." Very bad people had acci- 
 dentally come under his influence and were 
 converted; people who had resisted " every other 
 evangelist and preacher." He told wonderful 
 
 117
 
 The Church has a Revival 
 
 stories of these conversions. They were as 
 thrilling as the stories of adventure paid for by 
 the line in the newspapers. Always the Evan- 
 gelist himself figured largely in the foreground. 
 He insisted on everybody being converted in a 
 certain way. Unless a sinner consented to be 
 saved by certain methods quite to the revival- 
 ist's satisfaction there was a "lost soul" in the 
 case. And they must "confess" in just his 
 way, also, or they were not right. Sometimes 
 he would get all the converts kneeling around, 
 and the good people praying for them, all be- 
 lieving the Evangelist was praying, too. I saw 
 him take a notebook from his pocket and look- 
 ing about upon the prostrate forms before him, 
 count them, as a herdsman counts his herd, 
 and jot the number down. At the close of the 
 revival he had quite a "showing" in round 
 numbers which he read aloud as the result of 
 two weeks' labors, adding at last it was "all 
 through Grace." At the same time he stroked 
 his beard in a self-complacent manner which 
 gave one the impression that he had been 
 at least the " right-hand man of Grace." Then 
 he plead for " a few more," " just a few more 
 souls " to swell the number to a certain figure, 
 very much as an auctioneer proclaims the bid 
 which he expects. 
 
 "Oh, the egotism of it all! the farce upon the 
 118
 
 The Church has a Revival 
 
 work of the Spirit which is like leaven hid in 
 the meal, or the grain of mustard seed springing 
 to a new life under the surface and rising to- 
 ward heaven silently ! " That is what John said 
 one day. 
 
 " But John," I answered, " think of all the 
 good that has been done at revival meetings. 
 And look at the revivalists themselves. Many of 
 them have been taken out of the mire and the 
 clay. And a man has a right to count his 
 gain, be it gold or land or immortal souls, hasn't 
 he? You wouldn't do away with revivals would 
 you?" 
 
 " No, indeed," John answered, " but I would 
 not have evangelists count their converts as 
 if they had a copyright on souls, or as if they 
 drew a certain commission on "new hearts." 
 The disciples started out on that line, but the 
 Lord reproved them by telling them to rejoice 
 rather that their own names were written in 
 heaven. The Master knew how great would be 
 the temptation to tell in Samaria what they had 
 done in Galilee. He knew there would be a 
 disposition to count the possible stars in advance 
 of the crown." 
 
 Our revivalist donned the guise of Abijah 
 Noseworthy, and in his seeming solicitude for 
 others deemed it his duty to describe the exact 
 compound of the mire and the clay out of which 
 
 119
 
 The Church has a Revival 
 
 he had been drawn. At the close of one such 
 discourse, when the confession of the Evangel- 
 ist somewhat resembled bravado, I overheard a 
 young man say to another as they walked arm- 
 in-arm from the church door: " My stars, Sam, 
 I never sunk so deep in sin as that; guess I'll 
 wait a while till I'm more like the preacher. 
 Make a greater contrast, you see, and then I can 
 tell as big a yarn as he can." And the two 
 walked away laughing at what they thought a 
 good joke. 
 
 After the meetings closed the church settled 
 down on very much its old footing. The mem- 
 bers who had professed the "higher experience" 
 folded it away to be fresh and new when the 
 next revival should warm them up. As to the 
 new converts, I admit there were one or two, but 
 by far the greater number went the old way. It 
 was good to have two or three, but how much 
 greater results would have been obtained by 
 different methods! 
 
 John sighed when it was all over. There was 
 a reaction in the church. If evangelists could 
 be settled for life in one place, and themselves 
 work out the problems which they suggest, it 
 might be better. Our revivalist went his way 
 somewhat richer than he came. Just before 
 the close, when the excitement was at the 
 highest pitch, some brother, after a whispered 
 120
 
 The Church has a Revival 
 
 interview with the leader, proposed that there 
 be a subscription taken up for the good man. 
 " The workman is worthy of his meat." Gold 
 rattled and silver clinked and pennies jingled. 
 There was a goodly sum of money raised " to de- 
 fray expenses." "Defraying expenses" is a per- 
 ennial excuse for asking alms for the revivalist. 
 " Without money and without price " is Salva- 
 tion to be had. And yet I was going to say 
 something about a pretty good price, but I de- 
 sist. I will say, however, that it will be a " gold- 
 en era " when not a copper is asked for during 
 a revival meeting. Let the church see to it 
 that new converts are not asked to give "accord- 
 ing to the blessing they have received." 
 121
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 Church Gossip 
 
 In the matter of church gossip John was very 
 conservative. He was averse to family gossip, 
 neighborhood gossip, and all kinds of idle talk, 
 chitter-chatter, " profane and vain babbling " as 
 the Scripture terms it. " Worst of all," he said, 
 " is church gossip; pulpit babbling." 
 
 And yet, here I am writing a whole book of 
 gossip and church gossip, at that. I am in- 
 consistent. The very thing I deplore I am do- 
 ing. But I have an object. To gossip with an 
 object, and that a worthy one, is to rob gossip 
 of its hatefulness and yet I feel guilty all the 
 time I am doing it. 
 
 " How dreadful it is," John used to say, " to 
 hear a minister descant upon the erroneous 
 creeds or practices of sister churches, making 
 these the subject of an occasional discourse; or 
 to enliven his sermons with stray bits of fault= 
 finding, sufficient to arouse just a little animos- 
 ity in his hearers. For my part," he said, "I 
 expect to meet a long line of bishops and 
 priests, both Christian and heathen, in the New 
 Jerusalem, and throw my arms around their 
 122
 
 Church Gossip 
 
 necks, forgetting everything but the fact that 
 each and all are forgiven their sins. We pine 
 for heaven's freedom, but the chains of our dis- 
 tinctive doctrines prevent our seeing the Angel 
 that is waiting to unloose our fetters. Love is 
 the Angel." 
 
 John made friends with all the ministers of 
 whatever creed so they loved the Lord Jesus. 
 He said there was " help and farther sight and 
 uplifting of spirit in such association." Once I 
 opened the study door, thinking John had gone 
 down town, and there were John and a Catho- 
 lic priest kneeling side by side. Not that John 
 " leaned toward the Catholics " as the saying is, 
 but he had love in his heart. Love is attractive, 
 not repellent, and it attracts its own kind. John 
 says "no man can preach Jesus and be alto- 
 gether wrong." 
 
 " Why, John," I would answer, " doesn't the 
 Bible read that many shall say at the last day, 
 1 Have we not prophesied in Thy name and 
 done many wonderful things?' And the Lord 
 will answer, ' I never knew you.'" 
 
 John replies, " I said no man can preach Je- 
 sus and be altogether wrong. I made no refer- 
 ence to prophecies, nor to casting out devils, 
 nor to doing wonderful things. There are 
 many who do these things, but who do not 
 preach Jesus. Prophets are almost as thick as 
 
 123
 
 Church Gossip 
 
 stars. They make doleful predictions as to the 
 ' end of the world,' approaching ' tribulation,' 
 and ' clashing of arms.' They read Daniel and 
 the Revelations in a sombre tone, as if their 
 mission were to make people nervous and ex- 
 pectant of ill, and full of dread. The doctrine 
 of Jesus is the doctrine of peace and forgive- 
 ness and everlasting safety. Having Jesus 
 we do not shudder at prophecy. There are 
 other impostors who work upon the fancy of 
 their victims. For a show of good, and to gain 
 confidence, they feign calling upon the Name 
 of the Lord. They cast out devils, or say they 
 do, and work miracles, and heal diseases, and do 
 wonders. But the Lord takes no notice, unless 
 to be sorry. ' I never knew you ' will be his 
 reception of their protestations. To preach Je- 
 sus, to point men to Him, to teach the world 
 that there is a fair prospect of its meeting Him 
 face to face one day all this is different." 
 
 I came to think with John in regard to the 
 love there ought to be between churches and 
 believers. I suppose we can no more help dif- 
 ferences than we can change our individual 
 features, and yet we could be more alike in 
 love. 
 
 It is said that modern surgery restores lost 
 family likeness by interference. Here a tiny 
 slit, and there a stretch, and on this side the di- 
 
 124
 
 Church Gossip 
 
 viding of a muscle, and the lineaments are 
 changed. They are induced to approach some 
 ancestral model. Make the application fit the 
 churches and church members. 
 
 John used to say there is " a distinction be- 
 tween sin and the sinner. It was the sin that was 
 borne away into the wilderness; the sinner was 
 left in the camp. We close the Old Testament 
 and carry out the sinners to be stacked heaven 
 high or publicly whipped. We rub our holy 
 hands and give thanks that the days of church 
 riots are over. Would that we had buried the 
 spirit of strife so that it, with the body of dis- 
 sension, might have seen corruption! Instead 
 of fagots we use religious newspapers; and in 
 place of pitch, church ostracism, which is 
 equally adhesive. And we use all sorts of 
 strictures, like fetters. We have so swaddled 
 the church that it has no room to grow, and it 
 never is any bigger unless it bursts its bands in 
 places; then it grows irregularly, and so much 
 by piecemeal that the body is full of humps 
 and contortions and disproportionate members. 
 We are too impatient of one another. Let 
 Judas alone and he will go and hang himself. 
 There is no need of haste on our part in build- 
 ing his gallows." 
 
 The Lord himself set an example of pa- 
 tience and tolerant communion. They say it is 
 
 125
 
 Church Gossip 
 
 worry that makes one grow old and wrinkled. 
 Worry is what makes the church wrin- 
 kled. Abijah Noseworthy used to worry a good 
 deal. He worried lest the young folks go too 
 fast, and the old folks too slow. He was never 
 tired of lamenting that the " ancient days were 
 better than these," and if he saw anybody hope- 
 ful in regard to the progress of the church, he 
 was sure to throw cold water. 
 
 I forgot to mention Abijah's wife when I was 
 speaking of him. She was her husband's other 
 self. She had been an invalid for years, but 
 there was none of the cheer and sweetness in 
 her presence one often meets in the sick ; room. 
 Everybody went to see her out of curiosity, or 
 from duty, or in sweet charity. Somehow Mis- 
 tress Noseworthy picked up all the church gos- 
 sip that was floating in the air and communi- 
 cated it from church to church. She was not 
 malicious far from it. She simply dwelt on 
 trouble of any sort, and being of a religious 
 turn of mind it was naturally religious trouble 
 that she dwelt upon. She knew exactly what 
 minister was not " just in accord" with his con- 
 gregation, and what proportion were in favor of 
 him. She had an innocent way of getting at 
 church secrets when no one suspected her in- 
 tentions, and she certainly found out some 
 things by sheer intuition. What she knew she 
 
 126
 
 Church Gossip 
 
 did not tell as so much slander or gossip, but 
 with deep sighs and, I must believe, real sor- 
 row, she mentioned the " deplorable matter." 
 
 Each church in town knew the standing of 
 every other church, and the most pitiable part 
 of it was that trouble of any sort, actual or 
 prophesied, was sure to be exaggerated. 
 
 What a life the two must have led! Abijah 
 Noseworthy and his wife. Nobody ever heard 
 them laugh, nor yet were they seen to cry. 
 Laughter and tears are too near of kin for them 
 ever to have indulged in either. The unmis- 
 takable fact that death was " on their track " 
 made them miserable, if they ceased to think of 
 others long enough to consider their personal 
 situation. The fear that " dying grace " would 
 not be granted them tortured the two beyond 
 description. 
 
 When his wife actually came " to the brink," 
 Abijah Noseworthy stood by her, the perspira- 
 tion like great beads rolling down his face, and 
 almost screamed in his distress. " Hold on, 
 Abigail, hold on !" " Wrestle, Abigail, wrestle 
 till the break of day!" And Abigail " wrestled " 
 till at last her features sank into the peace 
 which they had never known in life. 
 
 127
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 At the Women's Meeting 
 
 They were a band of loving, earnest, helpful 
 women. They were full of faith in humble en- 
 terprises which could lift human kind. They 
 were a part of the wall, so to speak, of the church 
 proper. They bore their share of the burdens 
 which leaned heavily, roof-like, upon the main 
 structure. They were not preachers nor dea- 
 conesses nor nuns. They were simply women; 
 some rich, some poor, some with neither poverty 
 nor riches to move them nor to hinder them. 
 Mostly they were housekeepers, snatching these 
 few hours from other cares that they might help 
 in the saving of the world. 
 
 On the afternoon I am reporting they had 
 met to cut and sew and make garments for the 
 poorest in the church, or the needy outside of 
 the church. We had been sociably discussing 
 many topics, as women will, while our fingers 
 flew. We had considered individual cups for 
 the Communion service, and actually planned a 
 way to purchase them, provided we could gain 
 the consent of the officials to substitute them 
 
 128
 
 At the Women's Meeting 
 
 for the two or three silver goblets then in use. 
 We had sighed that our children, who " loved 
 the Lord Jesus in sincerity," must of necessity 
 be left at home or sit regretfully by our side, 
 while we, who loved the Lord no more than 
 they, had part at his table. Then we discussed 
 the Sunday newspaper, and the selling of ciga- 
 rettes to minors, and the feeding and clothing of 
 our children, and many other things of mutual 
 interest. There was the decorating of the 
 church. We discussed the question of using 
 tissue paper roses when the summer flowers 
 were gone. On this we all agreed that it is vul- 
 gar taste and we voted out the very suggestion. 
 All but Mrs. McEllen had spoken; she was 
 silent. "What is your opinion?" asked Miss 
 Waterbury. 
 
 " Oh," replied the lady addressed, with a deep 
 sigh, " I was not thinking of the question be- 
 fore the house, as they say in Congress, but of 
 the pressing needs of our foreign missions." 
 
 Every other woman looked up from her work 
 with a smile and a glance around the circle. 
 Mrs. McEllen was " labeled," so to speak, " For- 
 eign Missions." She bore the mark as officers 
 wear their uniforms. It was she who under- 
 scored the word " foreign " in the church no- 
 tices, so that the minister would give the proper 
 
 129
 
 At the Women's Meeting 
 
 inflection when he announced a meeting of " the 
 board." 
 
 The subject was a sad burden upon her shoul- 
 ders. I say " sad burden," for she always sighed 
 heavily when she mentioned the matter. She 
 was ever begging for foreign missions, always 
 nudging her neighbors concerning them, and 
 foreign missions were served regularly at her 
 table without so much as variety in the sauce 
 which flavored them. Her Sabbath^ school class 
 devoted itself to foreign missions before the 
 little things had learned the beatitudes, or what 
 became of the children who " mocked " an old 
 white head. 
 
 Mrs. McEllen button=holed her gentlemen 
 friends for funds to send to India and Japan. 
 She got the funds, too, for the subscription 
 paper in her hand reflected the resolution in her 
 face. She could move en audience to tears by her 
 appeals in behalf of China's womenfolk mean- 
 dering painfully about on dolls' feet, or Moham- 
 medan girls suffering for fresh air behind closely 
 drawn veils. 
 
 Mrs. McEllen, pouring over the last Mission- 
 ary Journal, was quite unconscious of the fact 
 that her daughter Arabella, was upstairs in 
 tears over the pain in her sensible broad foot as 
 she pushed it into its new number two shoe. 
 She did not suspect that the vision of her other 
 130
 
 At the Women's Meeting 
 
 daughter, Isabella, was growing defective in con- 
 sequence of peering between and through the 
 irregular dots in her fashionable veil, nor that 
 she was at that very moment adjusting her new 
 corsets with the lacing thrown around the han- 
 dle of the door to insure a snug fit. 
 
 Isabella was growing pale and her mother 
 noted it with solicitation. Again and again the 
 girl had assured her friends that she did not 
 lace, at the same time drawing in her breath 
 and compressing the pit of her stomach to show 
 that she could indeed " shove her hand up under 
 her corset." Isabella had been designed from 
 her birth for a foreign missionary, and her 
 mother sighed when she looked at her slim fig- 
 ure and sunken eyes. 
 
 Mrs. McEllen was "whole-souled," that is, 
 her whole soul was absorbed in this one question, 
 and I am not disparaging the question. It was 
 all right for her to be interested in foreign 
 missions. But for the fact that she overlooked 
 home missions so entirely, I should have noth- 
 ing to say about her. Indeed, I have nothing to 
 say against her as it is. I would simply give 
 what I can remember of the conversation of a 
 small circle of loving, faithful women who met 
 in the church parlors. 
 
 As I said, the other ladies exchanged glances 
 when Mrs. McEllen mentioned foreign missions. 
 
 131
 
 At the Women's Meeting 
 
 Good=natured glances, of course, for these women 
 had no unkind thought for anyone on that par- 
 ticular day. 
 
 "Don't you think," asked Miss Waterbury, 
 "that we have home missions of interest?" 
 
 Mrs. McEllen bit off her thread, wet her 
 thimble finger, pinned her work to her knee and 
 sighed. Then she said: "My calling is for for- 
 eign missions. I should have been a foreign 
 missionary myself but for the accident of meet- 
 ing Mr. McEllen. I promised to wed him be- 
 fore I thought to ask his opinion of my cherished 
 mission. Then of course it was too late; but I 
 have laid one daughter at least upon the altar. 
 As to home missions, what is there in the hum; 
 drum, tame scenes about us to suggest any kind 
 of mission? Sabbath=school is all right; moth- 
 ers' meetings, prayer circles, church services of 
 all sorts they are but fuel for the altar of for- 
 eign missions. Aside from these, what is there 
 to absorb you or me? I ask you ladies in the 
 name of heathen lands, and their absolute claim 
 upon us, what is there in Sunrise Park worthy 
 of the name of home missions?" 
 
 Mrs. McEllen grew almost eloquent in her ap- 
 peal, and she threw her scissors down on the ta- 
 ble with a sharp click by way of extra emphasis. 
 
 Miss Waterbury arose and drank some water. 
 132
 
 At the Women's Meeting 
 
 The ladies had nodded to her by way of request 
 that she speak. 
 
 "I did not drink," she said, "preparatory to 
 a speech. I was thirsty. But I will say that I 
 do see much and many things about us worthy 
 of the name of mission. For instance, there is 
 the Children's Home. How many of us have 
 contributed either money or labor to that? You 
 ought to go there and see those babies, orphans 
 but for Mr. and Mrs. Goodspeed, who adopted 
 them. Do you think it takes no money or care 
 to house them and clothe them, and feed them 
 five or six times a day? No pains to keep them 
 clean and wholesome and well? Where does the 
 money come from for their support? Faith laid 
 the foundation in the hearts of Mr. and Mrs. 
 Goodspeed and love for babies of the race for 
 whom Christ died chinks the crevices as they 
 go along. There is no gold behind the love 
 which prompts this benevolence only the gold 
 that is in my pocket and yours to be drawn up- 
 on as we are prompted by love. The Home be- 
 gan, and growsj feebly, Every dollar received 
 by the managers and the proceeds of their labor 
 go to those babies. They are not their babies 
 more than yours or mine ; they are God's babies. 
 The whole burden falls upon those two. It 
 makes me blush for us, church women that we 
 
 133
 
 At the Women's Meeting 
 
 are. We drop our tears over the hard times of 
 heathen women, who, perchance, carry a few 
 sticks on their backs or are denied the promiscu- 
 ous companionship of the other sex, of necessity 
 flirting with their own husbands and brothers 
 because denied the luxury of new acquaintan- 
 ces." 
 
 Mrs. More spoke next. She said: "I have 
 been thinking of the Rescue Home for Fallen 
 Women. It is not the first one of its kind, you 
 know. Jesus of Nazareth was the first rescue 
 home for the Magdalene. We forget the re- 
 formed girl in our zeal for the reformed young 
 man. He is in everybody's heart. No need of 
 a rescue home for him. There is hardly a 
 woman of us who would not welcome to her pew 
 on Sunday morning the young man in broad^ 
 cloth who last year ruined our neighbor's daugh- 
 ter. We may not have been acquainted with 
 that neighbor nor even have seen her daughter; 
 but they are both our neighbors, nevertheless. 
 I say we would welcome the young man to our 
 pew provided he is reformed. We would point 
 him out as a spared monument of grace. Ma- 
 trons would be overcordial in his reception at 
 the church social, and we would look sweet and 
 affable while he escorted our daughter to supper 
 at a cosy tete-a-tete table. They 'would have a 
 good influence over him,' you know. Oh, yes, the 
 
 134
 
 At the Women's Meeting 
 
 reformed young man is a lion; there is a career 
 before him and his class. But where is our 
 neighbor's daughter, the victim of the young 
 man's delay in reformation? No son of ours 
 conducts her to a church supper because she is 
 reformed. No family pew invites her to its con- 
 spicuous protection. We pity the women of the 
 foreign harem because perchance the harem is 
 far away. What shall we do for the women of 
 the harems at our door? Can we wash our hands 
 in innocency while we do not rescue the perish- 
 ing who are crouching at our doors, or who leer 
 at us scarlet-clothed from behind half-drawn 
 blinds?" 
 
 This speech and appeal was the cause of quite 
 a flutter among the pocket=handkerchiefs and 
 called to mind a number of instances during the 
 year when a little timely help might have re- 
 formed some young woman in our very town. 
 
 Mrs. Home was then asked to speak as to 
 minor services of missions. Mrs. Home was the 
 lady who had protested against the supplying of 
 missionary boxes with worn-out clothing, and 
 had besought the generously inclined to "not 
 cut the buttons from garments donated to the 
 destitute." 
 
 " Well," she said, " if you wish me to mention 
 some simple way by which to do mission work, 
 I will mention the church supper. Why not 
 
 135
 
 At the Women's Meeting 
 
 give what is left to the poor? I don't mean the 
 crumbs and crusts and 'chicken feed' generally, 
 but good, whole cakes and loaves and salads. 
 Ever so many people around us never see a 
 frosted loaf the whole year through save as they 
 peep in, with eyes that water, at the bakery win- 
 dow. Suppose we should make such our guests 
 for once, even if we do not sell twenty^five-cent 
 tickets toward church repairs. There are other 
 church repairs than such as pertain to carpets 
 and pews and curtains and furnaces. Did you 
 notice that poor, oddly dressed old lady some- 
 one brought to our last church supper? I pit- 
 ied the woman so! and I thought how we stared 
 at her as if she were out of place. Oh, I do 
 think we ought each to bring some such sister 
 and make her know that we do not see her shawl, 
 nor dress, we are so glad to see her very self. 
 What was it the Master said about the matter 
 ' When thou makest a feast call not thy rich 
 neighbors nor thy kinfolk nor thy friends, but 
 call the poor, the maimed, the halt and the blind ? " 
 "I, too, have thought of the same thing," re- 
 marked another lady. " I am going to do a 
 little gossiping. Don't look startled. The other 
 day I saw a tired, poor old woman on the street 
 with a bundle of clothes in her arms to be 
 washed for somebody. Miss Waterbury drove 
 
 136
 
 At the Women's Meeting 
 
 along in her new top buggy and took the old 
 woman to her home, soiled clothes and all. Oh, 
 there might be more 'Sweet Chariots ' swinging 
 low for the poor. They greet us at every turn; 
 not the very destitute who are starving, but the 
 common poor who never have a ride in a nice 
 carriage, nor a pudding with plums in it. I saw 
 that same lady (and she needn't blush) wash 
 the dirty face of a child one day, and he was not a 
 relation of hers, neither. He came around with a 
 few miserable peaches and apples to sell. Miss 
 Waterbury told him to wait a minute and she 
 would make him so trim people would have to 
 buy his fruit. Then she washed his face and 
 brushed his hair and made a gay butterfly under 
 his chin as if she had done nothing but arrange 
 little boys' neckties all her life. And if you'll 
 believe it she actually wiped that child's feet 
 after he had washed them at the pump. She 
 acted as if she really loved him. I tell you it's 
 these things that tell when we talk of the lack 
 of opportunity in home missions." 
 
 Then Mrs. Mayberry said that, as we were gos- 
 siping, she might as well tell her story: " I was 
 visiting a lady the other day who was moaning 
 because she had never been able to bring a single 
 soul to Christ, she had ' so much to do at home.' 
 And yet that very night and every night her 
 
 137
 
 At the Women's Meeting 
 
 four little ones devoutly kneel by their bedside 
 and pray to ' Our Father who art in heaven,' of 
 whom they would have never known but for 
 that same mother who declares sadly that she 
 has ' never been able to save any souls.' I know 
 of a good many mothers who sigh for a turn at 
 reaping in the fields that are white unto the har- 
 vest. They have read the twenty - fifth chapter 
 of Matthew, with streaming eyes that they have 
 so few opportunities of ministering to the Lord. 
 Little ones pull at their skirts and tease for 
 supper, or they awaken in the night with their 
 importunate cries for 'Water, mamma, water.' 
 If these mothers would listen to Him who said 
 ' Whosoever shall give to drink unto one of these 
 little ones a cup of cold water only, he shall in 
 no wise lose his reward, ' what a recognition of 
 home missions there would be! John China- 
 man, bringing the basket of clean clothes to our 
 kitchen door, is neglected, tolerated perhaps, for 
 the money and hard work he saves us by his 
 washing. We will send the Bible to his wife 
 and children in heathen lands, and when he 
 goes home he will hear them read it, wondering 
 why we never told him anything about it. And 
 yet it is far easier to reach a Chinaman in 
 America or England than to reach him at 
 home." 
 It was dark; the ladies folded away their work 
 
 138
 
 At the Women's Meeting 
 
 and disbanded. On the veranda I heard Mrs. 
 McEllen say to Miss Waterbury: "I wish yon 
 would come and see me often. You have done 
 me so much good." And I smiled while I 
 thought of the pressing needs of home mis- 
 sions. 
 
 139
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 Was it a Foundling? 
 
 There is a mystery about women which I 
 cannot understand. We are one thing at one 
 time and so different at another time. Now, at 
 that meeting which I recorded in the last chap- 
 ter we were good and true, if not harmonious. 
 How one week changed us! All there is of the 
 resentful, and uncharitable, and unwomanly 
 was rife in the next meeting. It seems that 
 sometimes the spirit of hate for her own sex 
 takes possession of a woman, and she is tempo- 
 rarily deranged. Even good women forget 
 themselves and join in the mad chorus against 
 a little sister, until we may well be convinced 
 that only heaven pities and forgives. At the 
 meeting to which I now refer there was a more 
 general attendance of the ladies, and as I said 
 they were " out of harmony " for no particular 
 reason but that women will be so. 
 
 " It's a terrible thing for her father," said 
 Mrs. A., changing her chair to the west window. 
 " He ought to have put her out to work." 
 
 " They say she cries all the time," quoth Mrs. 
 
 140
 
 Was it a Foundling? 
 
 B., " and I should think she would cry, the 
 shameless creature." 
 
 " She's young to have gone to the bad," 
 chimed in Mrs. C., " and to think of her bring- 
 ing up the younger children! The whole fam- 
 ily is disgraced. I've told my Jennie to have 
 nothing to do with her ever since her mother 
 died. I've felt it in my bones that she was no 
 better than she ought to be." 
 
 " They do say she is real modest," said Mrs. 
 D., " and as for work, she's always up before 
 daylight and the house is as neat as a pin. I 
 suppose she is like the ' whited sepulchre ' the 
 Bible tells about fair outside but inside full of 
 corruption. It's a wonder she hasn't contami- 
 nated all our children." 
 
 The last speaker was a young woman who 
 had become a mother all too soon after a hasty 
 marriage ceremony. Her child was considered 
 respectable, and Mrs. D. herself was a pillar in 
 the Missionary Society. What she said influ- 
 enced the circle a good deal, I could see. They 
 had all expressed their minds except Rachel 
 Waterbury. She hadn't said a word, nor had 
 I. I was too shocked to say anything. Not 
 shocked at what was being said, but at the 
 danger our Susie had been in, for she had been 
 a schoolmate of Minnie Brown and thought a 
 great deal of her. 
 
 Minnie Brown, the subject of all these hard 
 
 141
 
 Was it a Foundling? 
 
 things which had been said, was scarcely six- 
 teen. Her mother had died two years before, 
 leaving the young girl to assume her place. 
 Minnie was sweet and winsome, neither bold 
 nor bad, and she made a great many friends. 
 The praise of her was in everybody's mouth 
 until this dreadful mishap, and now the blame 
 of her was on everybody's lips. 
 
 The boy lover, not more than eighteen or 
 twenty, had been sent away somewhere, nobody 
 knew where to college some said, or to Ger- 
 many. His family were wealthy, though it was 
 said the young man loved Minnie and would 
 have wedded her gladly had he not been pre- 
 vented by his friends. His father offered Seth 
 Brown five hundred dollars to help him " tide 
 over the misfortune," he said. But Brown re- 
 fused it. 
 
 " He'll need it fast enough with such a girl 
 on his hands," said the lover's father; " what an 
 awful thing it must be to have such a daughter! 
 Couldn't have been brought up right. If he 
 won't take the five hundred dollars, I wash my 
 hands of the whole affair. As for having my 
 son pestered either by the girl or by the neigh- 
 borhood, that's out of the question. Thank 
 fortune I've money enough to keep him in good 
 society. He need never be seen here again." 
 
 When I got home from meeting that day I 
 
 142
 
 Was it a Foundling? 
 
 told John the whole story, and when I was done 
 he actually wiped the tears from his eyes. He 
 kissed Susie, who happened to be in the hall- 
 way, and started straight for Seth Brown's. 
 
 John was an own brother to every man, 
 woman and child in any sort of trouble, but I 
 told him he ought to draw the line between 
 trouble and shame. It doesn't hurt a man to 
 sympathize with trouble, but shame is like 
 pitch; it sticks to anything it touches. "There's 
 danger, John, there's danger," I said to him 
 many times; but he made answer, " I can see no 
 difference between trouble and shame. The 
 Lord bore our shame till the world spat in His 
 face. If they had but turned their backs on 
 Him, as they might on me; but they couldn't 
 turn their backs on Him. And the Lord hath 
 laid on himself the iniquity of us all. He was 
 put to open shame, despising the shame." 
 
 It was of no use to argue with John as well 
 think of arguing with the sun when it shines or 
 with the wind when it blows. 
 
 Time passed and the days were dark at Seth 
 Brown's. When the baby came, some of the 
 ladies of the Missionary circle went to the 
 house " to set things straight," they said. 
 
 Minnie was too distressed to object to any- 
 thing, though they did all their talking right 
 before her, and she told Rachel Waterbury 
 
 143
 
 Was it a Foundling? 
 
 afterwards that she " remembered every word 
 they said, and would through all eternity." 
 
 " It's a pity the little thing cannot die," said 
 one. " Is she well, nurse? " 
 
 " Is it deformed at all?" asked another. " It's 
 a wonder it isn't, as a just judgment." 
 
 " Don't let her have it for a minute," said a 
 third. " She might love it, and then we 
 couldn't do anything with her, you know." 
 
 " The best thing to do with it is to give it 
 away as soon as possible," said another lady. 
 "I don't suppose any of the families around 
 here would run such a risk as to take an unfor- 
 tunate infant like this." 
 
 "Nobody would take it who knew the cir- 
 cumstances," said another; "the only thing left 
 for us to do, as a body of respectable women 
 acting in the place of the girl's dead mother, is 
 to take it to the Foundlings' Home. I'm will- 
 ing to take it there myself though I don't see 
 how I can spare the time. But I feel willing to 
 rid the neighborhood of such a calamity." 
 
 I was younger then than I am now, but that 
 is hardly an excuse for my silence on that occa- 
 sion. I was there and heard it all. My cheeks 
 burn with shame whenever I think of it. I, the 
 minister's wife, who ought to have taken that 
 poor motherless girl and her innocent baby to
 
 Was it a Foundling? 
 
 my breast I, to sit by and hear all that! I was 
 weak; worse than weak, I was wicked; and I 
 shall never forgive myself, not even when I 
 meet Minnie face to face in heaven, if I get 
 there after what I know of myself. 
 
 And so it was agreed to send the sweet, pink 
 baby to the Foundlings' Home. Yes, it was 
 sweet. It looked just as if the angels might have 
 kissed it, in spite of its fate. Ah, its fate! If 
 I only knew its fate! If I could only find that 
 baby, and love it, and keep it safe for Minnie, 
 the broken-hearted mother! But I shall never 
 see that baby until I meet it at the last judg- 
 ment. And then, how can I look into its eyes? 
 
 When they carried the baby out, Minnie, the 
 little mother, stretched out her hands and tried 
 to say something; but she was "out of her 
 head," the nurse said, and nobody paid any at- 
 tention to her. I did suggest that we wait un- 
 til she got well and could help us to decide ; but 
 the rest all declared that Minnie had " no right 
 to say anything;" that she was " only a girl " 
 and not a "married woman;" that "in the end 
 she would come to see it was not best to burden 
 herself and the family with an illegitimate child." 
 
 The father of Minnie's lover kindly sent his 
 closed carriage around to the house to convey 
 one of the ladies and the child to the Found- 
 US
 
 Was it a Foundling? 
 
 lings' Home. He said we were doing "just 
 right." That it "would blast Minnie's pros- 
 pects, and leave an everlasting stigma on her 
 name to have the child around." 
 
 The women all agreed to give the wayward 
 girl a chance to reform, " now that this stum- 
 bling*block of a child was out of the way." 
 
 When I got home I found Rachel Waterbury 
 talking with John. She and John had grown 
 to be great friends. They were always plan- 
 ning how to help the poor and shiftless and 
 sorrowful. I didn't think they quite knew what 
 they were doing; at least I told them they did 
 not stop to consider the impression they were 
 making on respectable society. Miss Water - 
 bury carried peace and rest to all the crowd of 
 unfortunates, as surely as some people carry 
 bread and chicken to the poor. The bread and 
 chicken are usually in a basket, while the peace 
 and rest I mentioned were in Miss Waterbury's 
 loving personal presence. When I came in she 
 was saying to John: " The family are in comforta- 
 ble circumstances, and I think it would be better 
 for the girl to keep the baby. It is hers. 
 Hadn't you better see Minnie's father arid per- 
 suade him to refuse to let it be taken away?" 
 
 " It's too late," I ventured to say, " it's gone 
 to the Foundling Asylum." 
 
 H6
 
 Was it a Foundling? 
 
 "It's no foundling," answered John, with more 
 spirit than usual. " Webster defines a found- 
 ling to be 'A deserted or exposed infant. A 
 child found without a parent or owner.' They 
 have no more right to call that child a found- 
 ling, and to take it away without its mother's 
 consent than if the baby belonged to us. Talk 
 about the girl's shame ! Shame on the Mission- 
 ary Committee!" 
 
 I was speechless. I had never seen John 
 like this before. 
 
 Miss Waterbury rose to go. " I had no 
 idea," she said, "that they would hurry the 
 matter so. I would have taken the baby home 
 myself till the poor child-mother was responsi- 
 ble. But as you say, it's too late. I am going 
 to see Minnie; she shall never want a friend." 
 
 And Miss Waterbury stayed with Minnie as 
 long as she lived. She fell into quick con- 
 sumption and died in two months. 
 
 The other ladies called occasionally to read 
 and pray with her and to " help her reform," as 
 they said. But they had "other charitable 
 cases and could not stay long at a time besides, 
 women with families of their own should not go 
 too often to such a place. It is all right to help 
 fallen girls, but one must be careful." 
 
 Minnie never ceased to cry for her baby, and 
 U7
 
 Was it a Foundling? 
 
 once Rachel and I went to the Foundlings' Home 
 to find it, but it could never be identified a 
 precaution of the Missionary Committee, I sup- 
 pose. 
 
 " Miss Waterbury," Minnie would say, "God 
 gave me my baby. It was my baby. Why did 
 they take it away? I want my baby. Those 
 ladies come here and pray God to forgive my 
 sin. He forgave my sin long before the baby 
 came." 
 
 After a while she died. When we came to 
 the grave we found that someone had set up at 
 the head a white cross of lilies and roses. At- 
 tached to the right arm of the cross was a card 
 with the inscription, "Neither do I condemn 
 thee," signed, " Jesus." I believe John or Miss 
 Waterbury placed it there, but nobody ever 
 knew. Just as the casket was lowered into the 
 grave Miss Waterbury's sweet, low voice sang 
 all alone just these two lines: 
 
 " Now I lay me down to sleep, 
 I pray the Lord my soul to keep," 
 
 and more than one voice responded " Amen." 
 All that was years and years ago, but it is as 
 vivid in my memory as if it were to-day and 
 now. I have learned my lesson by a life-long 
 pain, and now I never hear of a " girl who has 
 gone to the bad," but I run to clasp her in my 
 118
 
 Was it a Foundling? 
 
 arms and whisper, " Peace, child, peace." I 
 have been on the board of two foundling homes 
 and not a child is ever taken away from its 
 mother. We take away no so-called " stigma " 
 by taking away the child. The child is the 
 wedge dividing the mother from her sin, and 
 God knows it when He places any baby, 
 
 U9
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 John did not Kiss Mrs. Black's 
 Little Girl 
 
 John had a great respect for women, and he 
 dearly loved little girls. He showed his respect 
 for women by being in no wise " a lady's man," 
 in a clerical sense. Ministers seem to have an 
 undue share of liability. Sympathy for them 
 is subject to exaggeration. Flattery approaching 
 a person in its true guise is recognized and held 
 at arm's length. Not that the ministerial heart 
 is unsusceptible. It is wary of flattery. But 
 when flattery masks itself as sympathy, the 
 citadel is taken by surprise. Sympathy is irre- 
 sistible. It is unheralded, and treads as upon 
 velvet. "That was a lovely sermon; it went to 
 my heart," proceeds from a dimpled mouth ra- 
 diant with smiles. The minister cannot help a 
 certain gratitude of feeling towards one who has 
 thus appreciated his efforts. There are more 
 " lovely sermons " and more gratitude. After a 
 while there are backbitings, and slander, and 
 despair. Innocence suffers because the ma- 
 jority of people in the church and out of it are 
 credulous of wrong. The more the pity! 
 
 150
 
 John did not Kiss Mrs. Black's Girl 
 
 " In Christ ye are neither male nor female," 
 wrote the apostle. 
 
 "In Christ! " But in the church and in the 
 world, in a very vigilant and wide-awake com- 
 munity, we are necessarily " male and female." 
 Society poses as a supreme bench, and its ver- 
 dicts are as "unalterable as the laws of the 
 Medes and Persians." A minister may not ig- 
 nore these verdicts, be he ever so innocent. He 
 is a " burning and a shining light." He is hung 
 in a naughty world and is exposed to gentle 
 breezes no less than to mighty winds. If the 
 wind and the breeze do not extinguish his light, 
 smoke and fog will conspire to make it dim. 
 From my heart I sympathize with the ministers. 
 Situated as they are " between the upper and 
 the nether millstone," sympathy and suspicion, 
 they are at a disadvantage. 
 
 Sympathizing with them, as I most heartily 
 do, I always make especial friends with their 
 wives. A minister without a wife is a ship 
 without an anchor. 
 
 John is looking over my shoulder again and 
 he is laughing. " You make us out rather ' weak 
 vessels,' " he says. 
 
 " Yes, you are weak vessels," I say. " Ac- 
 cording to Scripture. You are all right your- 
 self, John, but you know as well as I that some 
 of them are cracked." 
 
 151
 
 John did not Kiss Mrs. Black's Girl 
 
 It is too bad to record all this against a class 
 for whom I have the highest respect, and to 
 whom the Lord relegated the spreading of His 
 kingdom. But, on every hand are slander, and 
 evil-speaking, churches disrupted, the fair face 
 of Christian ministry disfigured. "How true 
 it is that one stain on the spotless robe of a 
 child of Jesus is deemed blacker than the count- 
 less sins of the transgressor!" Each one of us, 
 humble believers, is a child of Jesus, only some 
 are on a pedestal while the rest are on the com- 
 mon level and hide behind one another. 
 
 As I said, "John dearly loved little girls " and 
 he does to this day, now that the fringe of his 
 soft hair is as white as snow peeping from under 
 his generous skull-cap. This was one of his 
 ways of expressing his love : A neighbor's wife 
 called one day bringing her little Maude, a child 
 of six years. Oh, she was pretty and winsome. 
 Just to look at her was a festival, while to feel 
 her soft cheek, to hold her agitated, plump little 
 hand was well, 1 cannot describe it. The 
 child's mother appreciated it all with a mother's 
 due license of pride, and she was never weary of 
 "showing off" the little one in a quiet way. 
 She meant well; she was simply thoughtless like 
 many another happy mother, and no one could 
 blame her who saw the child. 
 
 "Go and sit on the minister's knee, Maude 
 
 152
 
 John did not Kiss Mrs. Black's Girl 
 
 darling," she said; "give him a kiss and tell him 
 all about your new doll." 
 
 Obedient little angel that she was, Maude 
 jumped down and ran over to John. 
 
 Did John take her on his knee and kiss ever 
 so reverently the dimpled mouth? Not he. He 
 took her hand respectfully and rising, said: " Let 
 us go out and look at the roses, Maude, there are 
 some new ones. Do you like roses and butter- 
 flies?" I heard him ask as the door closed be- 
 hind them. 
 
 Away danced the child down the path like a 
 stray bit of sunshine detached from the day's 
 radiance. 
 
 The child's mother sat thinking. She was 
 one of our intimate friends, innocent in heart 
 and life, devoid of conceit and strictly effeminate 
 of nature. She watched the two as they strolled 
 about in the garden. Something in John's man- 
 ner had struck her. Suddenly she looked me 
 full in the face and asked, " Why did not your 
 husband kiss the child?" 
 
 Now my first impulse might have been to 
 evade the truth and answer, " Oh, he didn't mean 
 anything. I guess he was thinking of something 
 else." 
 
 But Mrs. Blank was not one to be deceived. 
 She was frank herself and demanded frankness 
 from others. There was an honest questioning 
 
 153
 
 John did not Kiss Mrs. Black's Girl 
 
 in her eyes, a pledge of good faith, and I replied : 
 
 "John is peculiar, you know. His inclination 
 to kiss the child, winsome little thing that she 
 is, yielded to his principle. He often tells me 
 that he loves little girls too well to treat them 
 as other people do. 
 
 "John has convictions that would have made 
 it wrong for him to take her up and kiss her. It 
 was for her sake. What is the little girl but a 
 little woman? Many a sweet and winning child 
 loses neither her sweetness nor her confidence 
 when she has grown to a young girl, and she may 
 keep it to young womanhood. Were the world 
 of men like my John or your William the child's 
 sweet confidence would never be misplaced. But 
 alas! there are men that are not good. The 
 maiden may meet with such. And then we have 
 the pitiless stories that bring indignation and 
 pain to every mother's heart. John says, ' The 
 little girl is a Shrine, something to love and rev- 
 erence and hold sacred, We put our shoes from 
 off our feet, the customs whereto cling the dust 
 of danger, as if we were indeed on hallowed 
 ground.' Do you understand?" 
 
 " Yes, I understand," she said, and she wore 
 a troubled look. She was not troubled at what 
 I had said in the way of resenting it; but at 
 some possible mistake of her own. 
 
 John and the child came in loaded with roses., 
 154
 
 John did not Kiss Mrs. Black's Girl 
 
 When our guests went away the mother said, 
 looking at John and me, "I thank you, good= 
 bye," and John shook hands with the little one 
 just as he did with her mother. 
 
 I don't know why we should not help one an- 
 other in these simple ways. If it were not for 
 pride, if we only loved each other better, there 
 would be greater tolerance of one another's views. 
 There are a thousand aimless conversations , 
 feeble of motive, and of what help? If we could 
 rise above what is foolish and unhelpful, and ex- 
 change ideas upon every^day customs and topics, 
 what changes for the better might be wrought 
 in society! But we are afraid of "treading on 
 one another's toes." 
 
 155
 
 OHAPTEK XXI 
 A Proposal of Marriage 
 
 I went to the study one day and found John 
 looking perplexed, and yet not sad. In his hand 
 was an open letter. 
 
 "What is it?" I asked, looking over his 
 shoulder. 
 
 " It's something unusual," he answered; "read 
 this, if you like." So I took the letter and read 
 it while John watched my face. 
 
 Sunrise Park, Oct. 21, 18 
 MB. ROBEET ALLISON: 
 
 Dear friend: I write to ask if you have had a 
 serious thought as to a life*companion. If so I wish to 
 state that I have the warmest regard for you; a regard 
 which deepens with years and acquaintance. Should you 
 feel a like growing regard for me, be assured that in me 
 you would find those elements of sincere and faithful 
 friendship which mark congenial unions. In spite of the 
 rising color which I feel as I write, I am conscious 
 that my heart and heaven approve a step which, on the 
 face of it, may be somewhat startling to yourself. Trust- 
 ing that you will pardon the privilege which I have 
 claimed, and appreciate to some extent the confidence 
 which I have reposed in you, I am your friend, 
 
 RACHEL WATEBBTJBY. 
 
 "Well, well!" I exclaimed; "who would have 
 thought that of Rachel Waterbury? " 
 
 156
 
 A Proposal of Marriage 
 
 In his first surprise Robert Allison had brought 
 the letter to John. The young man was a gen- 
 tleman of unusual dignity, gifted physically and 
 mentally. He had never been known to "keep 
 company" with any lady, although his esteem 
 for women was not concealed. As to age, he was 
 some twenty = eight or thirty somewhat older 
 than the lady who had addressed him. Rachel 
 Waterbury is already known to the reader as of 
 lovely character, rich in good deeds and of mod- 
 est mien. In her own right she had a sufficient 
 fortune. 
 
 "Well, dear," said John, "do you see any- 
 thing out of the way in this?" 
 
 "Yes," I replied, "it is all out of the way. 
 How can any woman make such a proposal? I 
 thought Rachel Waterbury almost perfect until 
 now. What can Robert Allison think of her?" 
 
 John did not reply and I went back to my 
 work, meditating. The more I thought of it the 
 more I was convinced that a union between 
 these two would be just the thing, provided it 
 could have come about in the natural way. 
 From feeling shocked at first, I came to tolerate 
 the new departure, and at last to feel anxious as 
 to a favorable outcome. There came to me 
 glimpses of the urgent conviction which must 
 have impelled Rachel Waterbury to pen that 
 letter. 
 
 157
 
 A Proposal of Marriage 
 
 I felt the dignified frankness of it and the 
 sincerity of every line. No gush, no fervid 
 revelation of passion, no silly protests of undy- 
 ing affection. 
 
 I may be forgiven for having watched the two 
 the next Sunday, when I should have been 
 thinking of the sermon. When they met, as 
 they had done every Sabbath for years at the 
 Sunday-school, or after church, there was a 
 certain defined respect in the young man's 
 manner impossible to describe. Not self-con- 
 scious in the least, and hardly with a change of 
 color, the young lady seemed as "calm as a 
 summer sea." " What is surging in your 
 respective bosoms? I wondered and what are 
 your thoughts of each other?" 
 
 The sequel was a happy one. John married 
 the pair three months after that extraordinary 
 proposal. And John declared that the cere- 
 mony was so impressive to him that he needed 
 not the proof of added years to convince him it 
 was right. Suffice it to say that this union 
 was one of the happiest we ever knew. How 
 could it help being such with a foundation of 
 mutual respect verging upon reverence? From 
 the moment he received the letter, Robert Alli- 
 son said his former esteem for Rachel Water- 
 bury ripened into an indescribable regard. 
 His first surprise flowered into amazement at 
 
 158
 
 A Proposal of Marriage 
 
 his own stupid lack of perception. It was as if 
 he had loved her all his life. 
 
 "But what a risk for her!" I said to John. 
 " Just think if repugnance had been in the 
 place of esteem. It would have ruined her. It 
 was an awful step for any woman to take." 
 
 " That was impossible," John replied. " How 
 could any man be offended at such a letter from 
 such a woman? It was not the flippant dash of a 
 daring girl, nor yet the religiously sentimental 
 outburst of a weak nature." 
 
 John had his own ways of conducting mar- 
 riage ceremonies. 
 
 I used to say: "John, you are too particular. 
 Isn't it prying of you to ask so many questions? 
 Really sensitive persons might take offense and 
 call you impertinent. It's their own affair if 
 they are not congenial. All you have to do in 
 the matter is to perform the ceremony and 
 pocket the fee. Ten to one you will never see 
 the couples again. They go their way and you 
 go yours." 
 
 I used to say this to John at first. After a 
 while I learned to think as he did. When very 
 young couples came to him, or especially if the 
 lady were young, he never performed the cere- 
 mony without written or verbal consent of her 
 parents, except in those cases when he was sure 
 consent was withheld on account of unworthy 
 
 159
 
 A Proposal of Marriage 
 
 motives. He actually assisted one young 
 couple to elope, being perfectly assured that he 
 was justified in doing so. 
 
 Under no circumstances did he marry a couple 
 without a private talk with each separately. 
 More than once has he caused the marriage to 
 be postponed and in several instances to be giv- 
 en up altogether. 
 
 John had a way of getting at the heart of 
 things without effort. Confidence expanded of 
 itself, if he but invited it. In those separate 
 talks he learned all about the health, moral as- 
 pirations, propensities and spiritual experience 
 of the applicant. 
 
 As to health, it was John's emphatic convic- 
 tion that no man nor woman who has an imme- 
 diate or remote probability of disease has any 
 moral or physical right to marry. "Count the 
 cost," he would say; "put into the scales pres- 
 ent self-sacrifice against future distress and the 
 inevitable entailment of disease upon others, 
 and which is the heavier? It is terrible, the 
 Iife4ong strain upon affection; the bodily weak- 
 ness is a blight upon all that makes many lives 
 rich and fruitful. We have but to look to 
 see. There are the moral probabilities: the his- 
 tory of crime in a family, the taint of bad rep- 
 utation, remote or near. 'If I marry him I 
 will reform him,' is a cheat. 'If you do not 
 
 160
 
 A Proposal of Marriage 
 
 marry me, I shall go to the bad,' is an insult. 
 ' I shall win him to faith,' thinks the Christian 
 girl in the hopefulness of her ardent nature. 
 This, too, is a cheat. Without mutual faith in 
 God in short, without a third party to the 
 union there can be no happiness." 
 
 This is the way John argued the case and 
 many a generous fee was returned to, or rather 
 retained in its owner's pocket in consequence. 
 John never once thought of the fee that 
 is, not till after the ceremony. He was think- 
 ing of Time's fee, which is always extorted 
 from the careless. Not that John ignored a 
 marriage fee when everything was clear sailing 
 There was nothing so merry as a marriage bell, 
 to him, when it had the true ring. 
 
 Of course, John was the spiritual adviser of 
 many a wedded pair and he had a keen insight 
 into many an infelicity. He was ingenious in 
 advice and very discreet as to giving any ad- 
 vice at all. I do not know how it is that women 
 are so much more willing than men, to commu- 
 nicate in the matter of conjugal disagreement. A 
 man will eat his dinner in silence, light his pipe 
 and wander down to the courthouse steps, or 
 to his club, or to the saloon as the case may be; 
 or he will busy himself in his newspaper (the 
 paper upside down) and philosophize upon his 
 situation in the privacy of his own heart. Very 
 
 161
 
 A Proposal of Marriage 
 
 seldom does he communicate his sorrows to a 
 friend. 
 
 With the partner of his sorrows it is different. 
 She tells it all to a generous neighbor, mingling 
 her tears with her suds, or wiping her eyes on 
 an embroidered handkerchief, as the case may be. 
 She is sure of sympathy, and she gets what she 
 is sure of, with many an anathema upon the 
 sterner sex, and a companion tear over the fact 
 that " men are such brutes." 
 
 She finds her way to the minister's study 
 and there pours out her soul and her husband's 
 soul in the presence of Clarke, and D'Aubigne 
 and Geikie, and Farrar, and Tyndall, who are 
 staring at her in mute dismay from their seats on 
 the book-shelves. The minister sighs; at heart 
 he is in sympathy with the accused absent 
 brother. But he must not give offense to his 
 female client. Women make up two-thirds of 
 his congregation besides, to be courteous is his 
 second nature. He is sorry for his complainant 
 and he tells her so. He "hopes for the best"; 
 " perhaps things will change"; any way, he will 
 remember her "in his prayers." 
 
 His visitor goes away with a warm feeling 
 towards the minister and herself. She somehow 
 feels that the minister is on her side, though she 
 cannot remember exactly what he said. She is 
 "strengthened," she thinks, and she takes heart. 
 
 162
 
 A Proposal of Marriage 
 
 When she meets her husband she feigns a 
 smile. She is "ahead of him" in the minister's 
 sympathy, she thinks. She fancies, when she 
 next meets the minister, that he is giving her 
 sympathetic glances. 
 
 Oh, this lack of pride on woman's part! This 
 deplorable tendency to give oneself and one's 
 husband quite away, without so much as a 
 pennyworth of reserve! 
 
 John had methods of his own. For instance, 
 Mrs. McDeavitt rang the bell. She seated 
 herself in the low chair John politely offered 
 her. She wiped her eyes, and looked implor- 
 ingly at John. "Can I do anything for you?" 
 he asked. "Are you in trouble?" 
 
 "Yes, indeed, I am in trouble!" and she burst 
 into a Johnstown flood of tears. When the 
 shower was over she turned her liquid eyes 
 upon John and whimpered: "My husband isn't 
 what he used to be." 
 
 "Oh," John said in surprise. 
 
 "No, he isn't. He is cold and well I 
 can't explain it, and I don't know as I ought to 
 try. But he isn't what he used to be." 
 
 "Are you thinking of a divorce?" John 
 asked, respectfully, 
 
 "A divorce!" exclaimed Mrs. McDeavitt. 
 "Why, what should I do without Mr. McDeavitt? 
 He's a good provider and he's good to the chil- 
 
 163
 
 A Proposal of Marriage 
 
 dren, and he stands well in society. It's not 
 that; but he isn't what he used to be, and the 
 neighbors know it, too," and John's visitor burst 
 into another flood of tears. 
 
 "Let me help you," John said, really sorry for 
 the misguided woman. "Are you sure that you 
 yourself are just what you used to be? Would 
 you have dreamed in your halcyon days of find- 
 ing fault with your husband either to his face 
 or behind his back? Would you have sat tear- 
 fully by and heard your neighbors descant 
 upon him and upon men in general as if they 
 were a band of cannibals making a raid upon 
 helpless womenfolk with intent to eat them 
 alive? How do your neighbors know that your 
 husband is not just what he used to be? Let me 
 give you a bit of advice, since you have not 
 asked it, and therefore I am not almsgiving. 
 The next time one of your neighbors makes a 
 remark not complimentary to your husband or 
 to men in general, fly at them. Make as though 
 you would tear them limb from limb. It will 
 be a wonder to yourself, the sudden esteem in 
 which you will hold your husband when once 
 you have defended him. It is an inborn princi- 
 ple of the human heart. To defend another is 
 to make that other a hero. Try it, my friend. 
 If this doesn't work and your husband really goes 
 from bad to worse
 
 A Proposal of Marriage 
 
 " I'll have you to know my husband isn't bad!" 
 exclaimed John's visitor with an earnestness 
 that caused John to move back two steps. 
 "He's better than you are! "and she actually 
 laughed through her tears. Then she went 
 home. 
 
 Good men like my John are as thick as stars, 
 but oh, dear me, if they knew how women talk 
 about them behind their backs! It is a shame! 
 How can I help it though? 
 
 166
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 I Attend Some Other Churches 
 
 John insisted upon my attending other 
 churches from time to time, both " as a change 
 for you," he said, and to " get pointers " for him. 
 
 I told him that I was "afraid it wouldn't 
 look right." It would seem as if I did not ap- 
 preciate him, or that I was fickle or heretical 
 or something. I had never seen a minister's 
 wife attend other churches, and I was sure it 
 would give the impression that " something was 
 awry." 
 
 Come to think of it, however, it must be mo- 
 notonous for a minister's wife to always sit in the 
 same pew and always look interested in the 
 preacher and the sermon, and appear to be lis- 
 tening to the sermon for the first time, when all 
 the while she knows it by heart and is wishing 
 she could go across the way and "hear that 
 other minister everybody is talking about." 
 
 Always there is the same enforced interest 
 and the same gray shawl and the same alpaca 
 dress, and much the same bonnet with alterations 
 in the trimming that everyone sees year in and 
 year out. 
 
 166
 
 I Attend Some Other Churches 
 
 It was kind of John to insist on my visiting 
 the neighbor churches, though I do say that 
 John's sermons were always good and interesting 
 to me. But I learned something of the world in 
 going about, and John was glad of the hints it 
 gave him. 
 
 One day I strolled up the hill above the town 
 to a little church almost out of sight of the street. 
 It had not been built for this congregation, but 
 was the original property of some other which 
 had outgrown it and sold it to its present owners. 
 The tiny edifice had been moved up the street 
 to its present site. Inside there was a cross, like 
 the rest of the finish high up in front, and there 
 was no pulpit, only a raised platform. I almost 
 expected to see the choirboys in white emerge 
 from somewhere and sing to us; but they had 
 gone away, or rather the little church had gone 
 away from them. The cross, which had been in 
 the heart of the church in the old time, remained 
 in its old place. To me it seemed the token of 
 peace between churches and the "oneness" the 
 Lord prayed might be in the possession of His 
 universal church. 
 
 The choir of four were in their seats; there 
 was no organist in sight. Upon the organ lay 
 a single rose. The effect of that single rose was 
 marvelous. No work of the florist's art, with 
 its multiplicity of beauty, could have compared 
 
 167
 
 I Attend Some Other Churches 
 
 with it. A familiar hymn was announced by the 
 minister, and still the seat at the organ was 
 empty. As he read the last line of the hymn 
 the preacher turned and sat down to the instru- 
 ment. A single word of information that " the 
 organist was away and others were not familiar 
 with the instrument" was the sole apology for this 
 new departure in the Sunday service. After the 
 sermon, when the closing hymn was announced, 
 the minister again took his place at the organ, 
 and then, rising and facing the audience, he pro- 
 nounced the benediction, his coat skirt draping 
 the organ seat behind him. There was a certain 
 unfamiliar grace in all this that touched the finer 
 feelings. The whole was so natural, and yet so 
 unique, that I seemed in some new realm of 
 ministerial responsibility. 
 
 I was very much interested and sometimes 
 amused as I went about at the reading of 
 " church notices." I used to wonder if the rail- 
 roads would not yet announce their time-tables 
 from the pulpit, and the hotels their prices for 
 board and lodging, and the grocers their charge 
 for family flour and potatoes. Picnics, moun- 
 tain excursions, sewing societies and public 
 lectures were actually announced. I remember 
 being at a certain church and hearing the 
 preacher read with all solemn gravity: "On 
 Friday a fair will be held in this church, in the 
 168
 
 I Attend Some Other Churches 
 
 south parlor, at which aprons will be sold for 
 ten cents apiece and dish towels for five cents. 
 In the evening beautiful booths will be ready 
 for strangers, where three guesses at what is be- 
 hind the curtains may be had for fifteen cents. 
 Refreshments will be had for twenty-five cents, 
 after which we shall repair to the north parlor, 
 where the floor has been waxed for the occa- 
 sion." Then followed, in the same tone of voice, 
 the usual " Let us pray." 
 
 After the prayer came a few explanatory words 
 to the effect that if we " would keep our young 
 people from going astray in this age of the 
 world the church itself must furnish recreation." 
 
 Another day I heard a church notice to the 
 effect that "Ladies will be sold at the coming 
 church fair to the highest bidder. What were 
 left would be given away for ten cents apiece." 
 Following this announcement was a word of 
 exhortation from the preacher in a really beg- 
 ging tone: " We are in need of funds and some 
 means must be used to obtain them. Strangers, 
 one and all, are cordially invited." 
 
 I attended, one Sabbath, a church which I 
 had been told was "not exactly evangelical." 
 But I knew a good many of the members in a 
 social way, so I saw no reason why I should riot 
 go there once, and John did not object. What 
 was my surprise on entering, a trifle late, to hear 
 
 169
 
 I Attend Some Other Churches 
 
 the congregation singing the dear, familiar 
 tune 
 
 Nearer my God to thee, nearer to thee, 
 E'en though it be a cross that raiseth me. 
 
 "There must be some mistake," I thought. 
 " These people cannot sing about the cross and 
 reject the One who sanctified and endeared the 
 cross to all the world." I looked about the 
 beautiful auditorium and saw the cross in lovely 
 panels upon every door, and the window-casings, 
 too. Even the stained glass was set in cross- 
 sections and far up in the dome an angel was 
 flying in midheaven bearing a cross half= 
 hidden by his extended wings. " Ah," thought 
 I, " until architecture takes on new features the 
 story of the cross will be written in doors and 
 windows and frescoed walls." 
 
 I was in such an unexpected devotional ec- 
 stasy that when the closing hymn was given out 
 I was glad to sing, for I loved that hymn 
 
 There's a wideness in God's mercy 
 
 Like the wideness of the sea; 
 There's a kindness in His justice 
 
 Which is more than liberty. 
 
 There is no place where earth's sorrows 
 
 Are more felt than up in heaven; 
 There is no place where earth's failings 
 
 Have such kindly judgment given. 
 
 I was so intent upon the beautiful piece that 
 I did not notice I was singing the next verse 
 
 170
 
 I Attend Some Other Churches 
 
 quite alone. I sang on with my eyes fixed upon 
 the cross in the window 
 
 There is welcome for the sinner, 
 
 And more graces for the good; 
 There is mercy with the Savior, 
 
 There is healing in his blood. 
 
 I was all unconscious of what I was doing and 
 chimed right in when the congregation sang the 
 next verse, which was in the book 
 
 For the love of God is broader 
 
 Than the measure of man's mind, 
 And the heart of the Eternal 
 
 Is most wonderfully kind. 
 
 Forgetting everything else I was singing 
 right on 
 
 There is plentiful redemption 
 
 In the blood that has been shed, 
 
 when some one pulled my sleeve and whis- 
 pered: "You are not singing from the book.' 
 I was conscious of an astonished rustle of hymn= 
 books, and when I looked at the hymn before 
 me I saw that the verses which I had been sing- 
 ing were left out of the hymn. My face burned 
 and I left the church as soon as the benediction 
 was pronounced. When I got home I had a 
 good cry at my stupidity, and told John I would 
 " never go to another church but our own again." 
 I had made " a fearful blunder," I said. " The 
 idea of my being so forgetful as to sing without 
 
 171
 
 I Attend Some Other Churches 
 
 looking on the page, and to sing verses which 
 the whole congregation besides myself knew 
 had been left out of the book on purpose." 
 
 John smiled and said he was real glad I had 
 "done justice to grand old Faber. The dear 
 saint would rise up and thank me," he was sure, 
 "for compelling that church to see that they had 
 left out the very heart of his sublime hymn. 
 The whole piece counts for nothing without 
 those verses. It is like taking the heart out of 
 a man and then bidding him live and move and 
 save a world." 
 
 But John could not make me forget that I 
 had been guilty of bad form or ill-breeding to 
 mention "blood" in that connection. I have 
 always been very careful since to stick to the 
 text when I am singing. But it does seem 
 strange, come to think of it now, that the church 
 should have been singing "Nearer, my God, to 
 thee," and yet leave out those verses that refer 
 to the Savior by name and by his sacrifice. Of 
 what possible meaning has the cross, separated 
 from our sacrifice? How can a cross raise us 
 "nearer to God" without the Christ who gave 
 himself on the cross? 
 
 172
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 Election and Reprobation 
 
 John said that "if Faber had written that 
 hymn before the time of Cain arid Abel, the two 
 brothers would most likely have sung it together 
 with all the enthusiasm of devotion" that is, 
 all but the two verses which I had sung alone at 
 the church which was not "exactly evangelical." 
 "Those, Abel would have sung quite by him- 
 self." Imagine Cain saying to his brother Abel, 
 " There is total lack of reason in this religion 
 of yours that demands blood for sacrifice. For 
 my part I see no need. We are all sons of God, 
 and there is that in every one of us that can lift 
 us up without the shedding of blood. I will pay 
 my vows to the Most High in my own way. 
 Besides, the idea of blood is repugnant to me. 
 It is not in good form, and I dislike the word, 
 especially in this connection. There is my son 
 Enoch, scarcely more than a baby yet am I 
 going to bring him up to think of sacrifice as 
 necessary? I do not believe in sacrifice." 
 
 I suppose it never occurred to Cain that it 
 was vulgar to speak of the blue blood of aris- 
 tocracy, nor to refer to his own father as belong- 
 
 173
 
 Election and Reprobation 
 
 ing to blood of the very first water. He could 
 speak of the royal blood, which, flowing through 
 his own veins, stood always between him and the 
 more common types, such as dwelt down in the 
 land of Nod and elsewhere. Cain realized that 
 it was different, this royal blood which he felt in 
 himself, from the blood of sacrifice which in 
 some unaccountable way made all men royal. 
 The one was a legacy coming to him in a natural 
 sort of way, lifting him above the meaner sort; 
 the other, being outside of inheritance, was a 
 gift, which, accepted by such as could boast little 
 lineage, insured to them an aristocracy imperial. 
 This last, being quite out of the natural, it was 
 considered inelegant to refer to, and Cain grew 
 very wroth with his brother Abel for having any 
 faith at all in such a tenet. 
 
 Cain and Abel offer their sacrifices to=day " in 
 the field," and Cain would slay his brother or 
 rather he would destroy his altars, eradicating, 
 as he thinks, the last trace of a belief in imparted 
 royal blood. Still pedigree manifests itself, and 
 we see those about us who have come of poor 
 stock suddenly endowed with noble extraction, 
 claiming descent from a long line of ancestors as 
 lordly as they were illustrious. 
 
 As to sacrifice personal sacrifice for another 
 which Cain would have nothing of, there was 
 his mother. He loved her, but he never thought 
 
 174
 
 Election and Reprobation 
 
 of her as a sacrifice. He could see her growing 
 gray with anxiety for him, and "working her 
 fingers off" in helping his father at farming, that 
 they all might have enough to eat under the new 
 order. "But that was natural," he would have 
 answered, if Abel had ventured an allusion. 
 We worship the "natural" while abhorring the 
 spiritual that part or principle of which the 
 natural is but a prophecy. If, by the sacrifice 
 of one, bread for the natural is provided, why 
 feign surprise that, by the sacrifice of another, 
 bread for the spiritual is provided? 
 
 Speaking of Cain and Abel, I remember some- 
 thing John said once about "election and repro- 
 bation." Seeing that Cain was awry with the 
 present system of theology, that he was sleepless 
 and blaming the fates for locating him in that 
 particular part of the country, the Creator spoke 
 to the young man and said: "What is the mat- 
 ter?" 
 
 Cain's reply is not given, but it must have 
 been something connected with election and 
 reprobation, or else God would not have spoken 
 those words which decided the question of " free 
 will," forever. 
 
 " If thou doest well shalt thou not be accepted?" 
 That was election. "Arid if thou doest not well, 
 sin lieth at the door." That was reprobation. 
 
 "Why art thou wroth, Cain? Why is thy 
 
 175
 
 Election and Reprobation 
 
 countenance fallen?" It is said that God looks 
 at the heart. This is no doubt true, but he also 
 looks at the face, or perchance he has no need of 
 gazing at the heart, since he may read the heart 
 in the face. It was an early lesson in physiog- 
 nomy. Cain's face had changed. It had " fall- 
 en." And God took notice. It was the first face 
 in the " rogue's gallery." I named this chapter 
 " Election and Reprobation" because I should 
 have so little to say abou t it. I got that idea 
 from John. He says the less you say about 
 contended points the better for your cause. It is 
 not so much in the " point at issue " as in the 
 contention which the point gives license to. Re- 
 ligion has not given rise to the disputations 
 which those who cavil have claimed. It is the 
 spirit of contention in a man which too often 
 makes him the advocate of a doctrine. It is not 
 that his whole soul is in his doctrine; his whole 
 soul is in contention. Good men have been so 
 swayed by it, at the same time denying conten- 
 tion, that it became a matter of life and death 
 with them as to whether their theories were 
 adopted or not. Hence the valiant army of 
 martyrs has had its recruits. Men have died of 
 contention, fancying themselves martyrs to 
 religion. It was contention, not Christian reli- 
 gion, that condemned the soul of Origen "to 
 everlasting damnation for having expressed 
 
 176
 
 Election and Reprobation 
 
 hopes of the final pardon of sinners." Origen 
 was not free from contention, albeit he was a 
 martyr to religion. Why need he have contend- 
 ed for his belief in the final pardon of sinners, 
 since those self-same sinners would martyr him? 
 The last day would have vindicated the cause of 
 sinners and left his opponents unpardoned by 
 the verdict of their own theory. 
 
 177
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 The Tuttle Family 
 
 John came home one day looking so tired I 
 thought he must be sick, but on second thought 
 I concluded he was thinking about the Tuttle 
 family down in Cades Canyon. He had driven 
 the children over in the afternoon " just to give 
 them an outing," he said, but I knew his real 
 errand was to see how Ben Tuttle was getting 
 along. Ben wasn't poor. He was on a good 
 salary, though he worked hard. He kept the 
 outlets clear and the main pipes in order for the 
 water companies, and was obliged to stand in 
 cold water up to his waist for hours at a time. 
 
 Somebody had suggested to him a year or so 
 before that a little spirits of some sort would 
 keep him from taking cold. It was the old 
 story. He soon came to drink enough to keep 
 two men warm. His wife found out about the 
 drink and quite naturally took to scolding. I 
 say "quite naturally," for when a woman feels 
 hopeless in any cause she scolds as a last resort. 
 I scold, myself, sometimes, and am ashamed of it 
 afterwards, though John says I "needn't be, for 
 when a great many women scold in concert they 
 
 178
 
 The Tuttle Family 
 
 effect reformations in society." So I suppose it 
 is only individual scolding that is really ill-bred 
 and useless. 
 
 Ben told me afterward that if Mrs. Tuttle had 
 but sent him some hot coffee two or three times 
 a day it would have helped him to let the drink 
 alone. I have noticed that transgressors are 
 apt to blame someone else for such advance 
 as they make in their besetting sin. But I do 
 not read anywhere that God ever excused any 
 man for sinning by telling him that his "brother 
 or his wife ought to have done differently." And 
 so I told John one day. John only answered 
 that he supposed " God must think a great many 
 things to himself which he wouldn't dream of 
 telling us." 
 
 I had often seen the Tuttle family. Mrs. 
 Tuttle was a real pretty woman, but so slovenly 
 I wondered her husband ever came home at all. 
 She was sick a good deal and the children man- 
 aged as best they could. After a while people 
 became interested in them on account of Ben's 
 drink, and scarcely a day passed that they were 
 not visited by a temperance committee. They 
 would sit down and sigh, or take up the baby 
 and say " Poor thing!" If Ben Tuttle happened 
 to come in, they looked at him reproachfully and 
 asked him if he knew " how sick his poor wife 
 was." 
 
 179
 
 The Tuttle Family 
 
 Once I saw a woman sniff at his coat which 
 was hanging behind the door, evidently to see 
 if she could " smell a bottle." But Ben knew 
 better than to bring bottles home. He hid them 
 behind the rocks down in the canyon. 
 
 One year, about Christmas, Mrs. Tuttle sud- 
 denly "took religion," as she termed it, and 
 then the household economy was more than 
 ever neglected. Well-meaning women came 
 early in the morning to sing and pray and talk. 
 They had not got far enough in life's lesson to 
 understand that religion consists more in doing 
 than in saying. 
 
 When Tuttle came home to dinner, tired and 
 wet and hungry, he expected something to eat, 
 of course. But what did he find? A dirty 
 baby asleep in the middle of the kitchen floor, 
 hens walking around it pecking at the scraps it 
 held in its little closed fist, the breakfast dishes 
 unwashed in the sink, and covered with flies, and 
 his wife sitting on the side of the bed reading 
 " Woe unto him that putteth the bottle to him, 
 and giveth his neighbor drink." 
 
 If she had turned to Proverbs and read the 
 vivid description of the wise woman who "riseth 
 while it is yet night and giveth food to her 
 household," results might have been different. 
 She never looked up when her husband came in, 
 but kept on praying and reading, hoping to 
 
 180
 
 The Tuttle Family 
 
 convince him. The oldest girl was trying to 
 get dinner. A piece of steak was steaming and 
 oozing in a vain attempt to fry itself in the milk= 
 warm skillet; and in a kettle were some pota- 
 toes simmering beneath a gallon of water 
 long since "done" in their dirty jackets. 
 
 I saw this picture several times, and am not 
 exaggerating it. Ben looked at his wife and 
 then at the baby, drove the hens out and did 
 he scold? No, indeed! Men pride themselves 
 that they never scold. But he did what was 
 almost as bad; he boxed little Tom's ears, 
 kicked the cat that was licking out the break- 
 fast plates in her blind desire to be doing some- 
 thing, and walked out of doors. 
 
 Then Mrs. Tuttle and the oldest girl began to 
 cry, and the way looked darker than ever. John 
 persuaded Ben to wear rubber tights when he 
 was in the water as an aid in preventing chills, 
 but he drank all the same and the family went 
 on praying and crying and eating irregular 
 meals. 
 
 A strange sort of people who called them- 
 selves "Christian Scientists " got to arguing with 
 Tuttle one day. He told us about it. They 
 said there "wasn't any such thing as whisky; 
 that he just imagined it was good, and that it 
 was imagination that was driving him and his 
 family wild." 
 
 181
 
 The Tuttle Family 
 
 "Don't you see," they said, "there isn't any 
 evil in the world but in man's imagination? 
 Here's the orthodox Bible to prove it: 'And God 
 saw that the imagination of man was only evil 
 continually.' So you mustn't believe there is 
 any good in drink; really there is neither good 
 nor evil in it, and you can leave off your habits 
 if you just think of something else." 
 
 "Well," returned Tuttle, " it's a pretty reviv- 
 ing kind of imagination sometimes when a man 
 is cold and hungry. Ought to be cheaper, don't 
 you think? The idea of a tariff on imagination! " 
 
 I worried a good deal about the family and so 
 did a great many other women who belonged to 
 the church. We used to drop in and sympa- 
 thize with Mrs. Tuttle, and try to do the work 
 up a little, just to show her how it ought to be 
 done. But it made Ben so angry when he came 
 home, we had to give it up. Mrs. Tuttle didn't 
 like it neither " the neighbor women peering 
 around into her closets, and winking at one 
 another when they found a particularly dirty 
 corner, or a wasteful platter of scraps in the cup- 
 board." Yes, indeed ! I worried, but John didn't. 
 He never worried about anything. He said 
 " God hadn't lost sight of the Tuttle family, and 
 He would probably see that they had a chance 
 to touch the hem of His garment yet if the 
 crowd of meddlesome committees, that lacked 
 
 182
 
 The Tuttle Family 
 
 judgment, would fall back long enough." John 
 remembered the Tuttles in family prayers every 
 morning, not putting God in mind, as though He 
 were forgetting them, nor nagging at Him in 
 an impatient sort of way, but emphasizing "Thy 
 will be done," as if that particular " will " was 
 all the world needs to set it right. 
 
 Well, this takes us up to the time John came 
 home looking so tired. After a while he took the 
 Bible down and read how Peter, in his zeal, with- 
 out knowledge, drew his sword and cut off some- 
 body's right ear. And then he told me that he 
 had been over to Cades Canyon and found 
 brothers Goodsoul and Kightenough there, 
 arguing with Tuttle. They had gone down to 
 where he was working in the water and attacked 
 him with what the Bible says about "damna- 
 tion " and " better put a knife to thy throat " 
 and " without are drunkards," etc., hurling all 
 sorts of terrible insinuations at him; and there 
 stood Ben in the water shivering with cold and 
 anger. His " right ear " had been cut off by 
 Peter's officious sword. He didn't know whether 
 " to commit suicide or lay his well-meaning 
 visitors out on the rocks," he said. 
 
 This lack of Christian courtesy and good judg- 
 ment on the part of those men was what made 
 John so tired. He says he thinks such passages 
 as they had selected are to be " read in a tender, 
 183
 
 The Tuttle Family 
 
 pitying tone, with entire lack of assertion, which 
 would do away with their seeming harshness 
 and make a man feel sorry that his sin had 
 driven the Father to inflict pain on His children, 
 which could only be equaled by what He him- 
 self felt on their account." 
 
 A week or two after this John went over again 
 and stopped at the house a minute. There he 
 found a Salvation Army woman telling the chil- 
 dren stories while she cleaned them up and 
 made Mrs. Tuttle more comfortable. John said 
 he stayed around the yard examining the cow 
 and hens, just to see how things were going. 
 The whole family liked John, and he felt that he 
 was in no eavesdropper's shoes. 
 
 While the stranger was at work she sang rol- 
 licking songs that soon made Mrs. Tuttle stop 
 groaning, and then laugh the first time she had 
 laughed in a year. Not the words, but the tune 
 was so rollicking. John said if he had had the 
 blues himself he would have smiled. 
 
 " I'm a soldier, as you see," was sung to the 
 tune of " So early in the morning," and " The 
 Salvation Army will conquer the world," to the 
 tune of " I'm a man you don't meet every day." 
 John could see that the little woman was con- 
 quering that household, and so he wandered 
 down to the water pipes. 
 
 Long, before he could see Ben he heard 
 
 184
 
 TELLING THE CHILDREN STORIES WHILE SHE CLEANED THEM 
 UP AND MADE MRS. TUTTLE COMFORTABLE.
 
 The Tuttle Family 
 
 somebody singing, moving along in the brush 
 toward the spot where Tuttle was. The tune 
 was, "Now isn't it funny they don't? " and the 
 words were the same we often heard on the 
 corner where the torches stop in the evening 
 right in front of Peterson's cigar stand: 
 
 " For years I have followed the devil around 
 
 But Satan and I are out. 
 He promised me pleasure but none I have found, 
 
 So Satan and I are out. 
 
 He once held a mortgage upon my poor soul, 
 But Christ paid it off and made me quite whole, 
 And off from my heart the burden did roll 
 
 And Satan and I are out. 
 
 When the Captain got opposite Tuttle he 
 stopped and passed the time of day and in- 
 quired if he wasn't cold. " I was a minute ago," 
 Ben answered, " but that singing of yours made 
 me forget. Do you come this way often? " 
 
 "Oh, yes," his visitor answered, " when I have 
 an errand." 
 
 John knew the " errand " had been done with 
 the singing. It was dinner time, and the two 
 walked up to the house, John behind them. 
 The visitor began to sing again, not in a rol- 
 licking tone this time, but in a sweet voice that 
 fluttered up into the treetops and then trailed 
 along in the dried leaves, or rustled in the wild 
 grape vines: 
 
 185
 
 The Tuttle Family 
 
 I'll trust thee noo dear Savior, I'll trust Thee as I go, 
 Oh, I would live and seek thy love, nae ither wud I know. 
 Ye've ta'en the burden of my sins, ye've dune a heap for 
 
 me, 
 Oh, take my heart dear Jesus, its a' I hae tae gae. 
 
 John said he didn't even stop to speak to 
 the Tuttles. They did not seem to need him 
 that day, and he came home looking so happy! 
 as if he were one with some sweet secret. 
 
 Now, I never admired the operations of the 
 Salvation Army. They seem to be so flippant 
 with solemn things, and they shock refined 
 people with their noise and lack of good taste. 
 But John says: "We nice, polished folks mustn't 
 put out our hands to ' steady this ark of the 
 Lord.' Better to make the ground smoother, 
 grade the track a little, and the mysterious 
 secrets of the Almighty will be taken care of." 
 
 He attends their meetings sometimes, and 
 once when they were mobbed by the town 
 roughs an egg came plump against his back. 
 John told me afterwards there was such a " rush 
 of perfect peace into his soul that he could 
 have wished the pelting prolonged." He heard 
 someone say, " Bear ye one another's burdens," 
 and looked behind and around him, but nobody 
 was speaking save the Captain, in red, who was 
 saying: "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto 
 one of the least of these." 
 
 186
 
 The Tuttle Family 
 
 I always thought that " Bear ye one another's 
 burdens" meant to go and sit by the sick, and 
 carry them jelly and flowers, and attend funerals, 
 and be sympathizing with people in distress 
 generally. But John says the text has had 
 a new meaning to him ever since he felt the 
 explosion of that egg on hia shoulder, which 
 was meant for the speaker's face. 
 
 Well, the Tuttle family were won by the 
 Salvationists, and of course Ben left off the 
 drink. 
 
 187
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 Company to Dinner 
 
 We had invited Judge Rich and his family 
 to dinner. Judge Rich was a prominent mem- 
 ber of our church, well- to-do and highly re- 
 spected in the community. Between him and 
 John a friendship had existed for a long time. 
 This was a marvel to me they were so dissim- 
 ilar. They were always differing in opinion, 
 yet so good-naturedly that neither took of- 
 fense. 
 
 Just as we were seated at table, and I was 
 pushing up the baby's high chair, we heard a 
 knock at the side door. Nancy came in to say 
 that, " a tramp wanted to know if he could do 
 anything to pay for his dinner." 
 
 "Certainly, certainly," answered John, "see 
 if he needs to wash, and bring me his name." 
 
 Nancy returned to say that he "was neat 
 enough, though threadbare," and that his name 
 was "Archibald Frye." 
 
 "Ask Mr. Frye to come in," said John, mak- 
 ing room for the stranger at his left. The 
 tramp entered, somewhat embarrassed, but he 
 was put at his ease by John's cordial manner 
 
 188
 
 Company to Dinner 
 
 and hearty introduction to the whole party. 
 It was as if he had been expected, and John 
 was not one to ignore courtesy, though his 
 guest was a tramp. 
 
 Judge Rich winced a bit, and his wife 
 colored a little. I, used to my husband's ways, 
 could but smile at his courage. Madam Grundy 
 had seated herself, as unannounced as this 
 tramp, at our table. As usual, she demanded 
 respectful hearing. John was always more 
 deaf to her remarks than ordinary people are in 
 fact, paid no attention to her. I was almost 
 sorry for our guests and wished, very secretly, 
 that " Mr. Frye " had not happened to drop in. 
 
 John, after grace, carved the roast, and at- 
 tended to the duties pertaining to mine host with 
 more than his usual good cheer. Conversation 
 was lively and our guests forgot their momen- 
 tary annoyance. Topics of the day were freely 
 discussed, and John led so adroitly that he had 
 beguiled an opinion from the tramp before the 
 rest of us knew what he was about. The tramp 
 proved himself intelligent, and, from some timid 
 remarks on the tariff, he came to an earnest dis- 
 cussion with Judge Rich on the outcome of the 
 present hard times. 
 
 John sent me one of those telegraphic com- 
 munications out of the depths of his blue eyes, 
 so common between us, and I was more than 
 
 189
 
 Company to Dinner 
 
 amused at the turn things had taken. Dinner 
 over, the whole party retired to the parlor, with 
 the exception of the tramp, who excused him- 
 self and went out. John followed him to the 
 door where he stood talking with him for a few 
 minutes, when the two shook hands cordially, 
 as if they had been old friends, and parted. 
 The tramp went down the street in search of " a 
 job," no doubt, and John went into the parlor. 
 
 " Well," said Judge Rich, " you astonish me 
 by your hospitality! If you continue this 
 thing, John, mark the words of an old lawyer, 
 you will be overrun with tramps. In such 
 times as these one cannot be too reserved. It 
 is true we ought to feed the hungry, and clothe 
 the naked, but there is danger in too much free- 
 dom though I must confess this latest tramp 
 was no disgrace to your table. I believe you 
 knew him, now, didn't you, or you would have 
 been less cordial? " 
 
 " No," replied John, " I did not know him. 
 It would have been the same had he been 
 clothed in rags and with the look of a criminal. 
 As long as we spread a table the destitute, from 
 whatever cause, are welcome. I often wish they 
 would come again, and often we invite them, but 
 strange as it may seem the same face has 
 never appeared at our door twice." 
 
 190
 
 Company to Dinner 
 
 " Don't you think," continued the Judge, 
 " that vagrancy is encouraged by your methods? 
 Instead of a beggar feeling his true position, as 
 it really is, a mean and degraded one, you bid 
 him feel at home and help himself as if he de- 
 served distinction. Now we discriminate at our 
 house, as most of our church people do. We 
 never turn a beggar away, but when a tramp 
 comes along my wife sets out the scraps on the 
 backdoor steps. The idea of feeding a tramp 
 from china, and seating him beside your own 
 children! There are always remnants left from 
 yesterday's meals which would otherwise be 
 wasted. They are good enough for tramps, and 
 are eaten by them with avidity, too, unless they 
 happen to be full. Coffee for them is as good 
 from a tin cup as coffee from a lacquered bowl 
 with a mouthpiece." 
 
 Here I remembered that I had taken a mus- 
 tache cup from the sideboard for Mr. Frye, out 
 of respect for John. I did a great many things 
 out of respect for John for which I deserve no 
 other credit. I think I should be a Christian 
 out of respect for John if for no other reason. 
 The fact that a thing pleased John made that 
 very thing the one of all others which I was de- 
 termined to do. To please him I would sew an 
 occasional button on the neck of a tramp's 
 
 191
 
 Company to Dinner 
 
 shirt, and for the same reason pass the same 
 tramp coffee in a mustache cup instead of a 
 cracked bowl. 
 
 " Judge Eich," I said, " I used to feed the 
 tramps on the backdoor step, or give them a 
 piece to put in their pockets, till one day it 
 happened to be a big overgrown boy with a 
 coat too short in the sleeves and trousers too 
 short in the legs. His freckles had not all 
 faded, and his downy beard appeared on his 
 sunburned face in a manner that appealed to 
 my heart. He looked, generally speaking, very 
 much like our Harry when he returned last 
 summer from his tramp in the mountains. I 
 thought of our Harry and felt ashamed for 
 having offered this boy food out of doors as 
 if he were a dog, and I took him right in. It 
 was for no other reason than that I loved 
 Harry. Before he was gone he was shaved 
 with Harry's razor, his coat sleeves let down 
 at the wrist, and a bright necktie adjusted, 
 almost affectionately, at his unhandsome throat, 
 just in front of, and hiding a prominent 
 ' Adam's apple.' Now, don't think for a mo- 
 ment, Judge, that I loved that awkward stran- 
 ger boy. I do not deserve credit, for it was the 
 thought of our own dear tramp, Harry, which 
 moved me. I am sure John and I don't love 
 tramps just because they are tramps. It is for 
 
 192
 
 Company to Dinner 
 
 somebody's sake that we make room for them 
 at the table." 
 
 " In My name," said John. " The Master knew 
 the nature God had given us when He told us to 
 give the cup of water in His name. For His 
 sake, because we love Him, we will do a thou- 
 sand things for them we do not love just as 
 my wife, for the sake of our boy Harry, caused 
 the boy tramp to be made comfortable and al- 
 most goodlooking. Half of Christendom are 
 looking for the Christ to come again. I, too, 
 look for Him. I may seat nine unworthy ones, 
 tramps, at my table; the tenth may be the Lord 
 himself; for did He not say, ' Inasmuch as ye 
 have done it unto one of the least of these ye 
 have done it unto Me?' We look for the Lord 
 to come in the clouds of heaven. I would not 
 miss inviting Him to come in before that last 
 appearing, nor set stale pieces for Him on the 
 backdoor steps." 
 
 " Well," answered the Judge, " I think you 
 carry things to an extreme. These tramps will 
 never thank you for it. I always notice that they 
 go away from our house with a sullen, dissatis- 
 fied look, as if they would have had something 
 more, or, indeed, all we have. In most cases 
 they are self-made tramps. They might have 
 saved something out of former wages. There is 
 that family on D street we were speaking of, 
 
 193
 
 Company to Dinner 
 
 you know. They are foolish; they do not know 
 how to take care of money when they have it. 
 And now they are destitute, and I saw you, 
 John, leave a basket of provisions at their door 
 yesterday. I think it's mistaken kindness, and 
 you'll excuse me for saying it. That man has 
 always been on good wages until now, and ho 
 ought to have saved for a rainy day. It seems 
 as though such people will never learn. And 
 they expect us, who save, and plan for the future, 
 to support them as soon as they are out of work. 
 I have no patience with them. They buy the 
 choicest cut of meat, and the finest brand of 
 flour when they are in luck, and starve, but for 
 us, when they are out of luck." 
 
 John smiled sadly, while he replied: "Too 
 bad, too bad! But, Judge, we read that God 
 said far back in the time of Moses, without a 
 why or wherefore, ' The poor shall never cease 
 out of the land.' Like a refrain Jesus took up 
 the words and sent them down to the church, 
 'The poor ye have always with you.' It is a 
 simple fact, like spring and summer. We are 
 prone to exclaim with the old prophet, ' Surely 
 they are poor, they are foolish.' They are fool- 
 ish, it is true, many and many a time. Who of 
 us were not foolish if God himself were the 
 judge. As to feeding the tramp on the back 
 doorstep " 
 
 194
 
 Company to Dinner 
 
 Here a gentleman called for Judge Rich and 
 the conversation was closed. In thinking it all 
 over since, I am not sure that we were never im- 
 posed upon. And yet, to this day, we always 
 feed the tramps, and if it is mealtime they sit 
 at the table. 
 
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 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 Earth to Earth, Ashes to Ashes, 
 Dust to Dust, in Sure and Certain 
 Hope of the Resurrection 
 
 I was never in the habit of attending funerals; 
 indeed, I had never been to one in all my married 
 life, nor had I looked upon a dead face except 
 in those cases, before mentioned, when the neces- 
 sity of " neighborliness " demanded it. 
 
 One day the daughter of a friend died, and 
 John urged me to attend the funeral "just to 
 show my sympathy." The family were not 
 members of our church, and a neighboring min- 
 ister conducted the services. I went, just to 
 please John, and I have been sorry ever since. 
 The whole hour was a torture to me, and if to 
 me, what must it have been to the bereaved 
 family! 
 
 When I got there a few of the neighbors were 
 already seated. Two or three of them were sigh- 
 ing, and even sobbing loud enough to be heard 
 through the house. I knew these women were 
 in no wise related to the family, nor had they 
 ever been intimate. I have learned since that 
 
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 Hope of the Resurrection 
 
 there are people, especially elderly women, who 
 make a practice of attending funerals and mak- 
 ing a show of sorrow which they do not feel at 
 all, and then go home to criticise the actual 
 mourners, and tell how this one did not "seem 
 to feel it any," and that one " took it to heart 
 dreadfully," and the other one "actually never 
 shed a tear," and " there wasn't a looking-glass 
 in the house turned face to the wall," and "the 
 corpse didn't look at all natural," and "the coffin 
 was only stained pine when they could have 
 afforded better," etc., etc. 
 
 As I said, I was a little early, in time to see 
 the minister walk sadly in as if he, too, had lost 
 a friend. He shook hands in a melancholy way 
 with each of the family, and then he whispered 
 with several of them, loud enough for all to hear, 
 seeming to elicit points as to age, and sickness, 
 and preparation for death. Then the service 
 began in a dirge I think it was " Sister thou wast 
 mild and lovely." Now that hymn was never a 
 favorite of mine. There is something abnor- 
 mally sad about it, sung as it so often is while 
 the sod falls like a muffled knocking on the 
 coffin^ lid at the bottom of the grave. It has too 
 much of the painful reminiscence, and too little 
 of Faith's uplifting. 
 
 Besides, it is sung inconsistently sometimes. 
 "Gentle as the summer breeze," "Pleasant as 
 
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 Earth to Earth, in Sure and Certain 
 
 the air of evening," are made applicable in the 
 excitement of the sad moment to some veritable 
 scold who in her lifetime was well known to be 
 anything but " pleasant" and "gentle." But to 
 go back to the funeral. 
 
 After the dirge the minister prayed. He 
 told the Lord how much " this bereaved family 
 had loved this dear one; the form that now lies 
 before them cold in death." He mentioned the 
 fact, while he sobbed, that "their hearts were all 
 bleeding, and how they would miss her at break- 
 fast, and dinner, and supper," and how they 
 could remember that " Jesus wept " and how 
 they would all " meet again bye-and=bye, after 
 all these parting scenes were over." It was the 
 most curious prayer I had ever heard at that 
 time, though since then I have listened to many 
 a one like it. We have all heard them, these 
 funeral prayers, fashioned into a probe where- 
 with to tear apart the partially healed wound. 
 It is done for effect upon the listeners, to make 
 the particular hour stand out in life's wilder- 
 ness like a pillar of salt, a monument of con- 
 gealed tears to commemorate a backward glance 
 at devastated homes. 
 
 When the prayer was done everybody was 
 crying audibly, almost wailing and how could 
 they help it, especially the dead girl's mother? 
 Then they sang again and the grief grew more 
 
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 Hope of the Resurrection 
 
 still, only to burst forth with greater intensity as 
 the sermon advanced. 
 
 The minister took for his text, " I know that 
 the child will not return to me." And then he 
 went on in almost a repetition of his prayer, 
 tearing open the wound with pitiless hand, lay- 
 ing bare the arteries of bereavement, sharpening 
 the grief, and making more poignant the sting 
 of it. 
 
 The sound of crying increased, and the 
 preacher seemed to take heart at the sound, 
 leaving not so much as a fig leaf of present com- 
 fort to cover so naked a sorrow. The comfort 
 was in the far future, on the " other side of Jor- 
 dan, where the waters cease to roll." There was 
 no lifting of soul and body above the grief no 
 gilding of despair with the gold leaf of everlast- 
 ing reparation everlasting because covering the 
 past, present and future of human life with the 
 radiance of God's own sorrows. It is true, the 
 minister did attempt to comfort the family with 
 the assurance that the dear one was "better off," 
 and "we wouldn't have her back if we could," 
 and many such platitudes so familiar to one 
 who makes a practice of attending funerals. 
 These platitudes came in as an afterthought. 
 It was as though the preacher had suddenly re- 
 membered that he had not discharged his whole 
 duty if he left them out. 
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 Earth to Earth, in Sure and Certain 
 
 With the air of one who is satisfied that he 
 has preached a "powerful funeral sermon," the 
 minister then proposed that " the casket be 
 opened so that the friends of the departed may 
 take a last look at the face that is cold in 
 death." I was indignant, and left the room. I 
 suppose it was thought that I was overcome by 
 my feelings, as were the rest. And so I was. 
 But I did not care to feel so much pain at the 
 mere abnormal instinct of a man who lacked 
 the refinement of personal forge tfulness. 
 
 And yet this minister, and those present, had 
 been accustomed, all their lives, to speak of "the 
 Angel of Death." They had thought of death 
 always as " a happy release," and when the last 
 hour was mentioned, remotely, it was always 
 with an upward glance to heaven and an ex- 
 pression of resignation on their not unhappy 
 faces. Now that the last hour had actually 
 come, and they were sitting with it, how differ- 
 ent was their view, apparently! Now that, ac- 
 cording to their previous faith, one of the family 
 had been " taken to heaven to be happy forever- 
 more," there was only sorrow. And they all put 
 on black. They would wear the mourning in- 
 definitely; those who were the sorriest would 
 wear it a long, long time. Those a little less 
 sorry would wear it half as long; and those who 
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 Hope of the Resurrection 
 
 were scarcely sorry at all would don their habit- 
 ual garments in a few days. 
 
 It was as if the dear one were lost, instead of 
 being with the Lord. Heathen people of whose 
 funeral rites I have read can scarcely seem 
 more desolate, expecting no everlasting life to 
 come. " Earth to earth, dust to dust, ashes to 
 ashes" was emphasized, while the sound of 
 tears muffled the "sure and certain hope.' 
 John always said it seemed to him like a mock- 
 ery of faith. It is no wonder that the unbeliev- 
 ing world taunt us in our grief and say: " You 
 do not believe. You are not sure." 
 
 When the minister spoke of the child being 
 "better off " and "at rest" he did it with such 
 a wail in his voice and choking in his throat 
 that his words had no force. 
 
 I told John I would never attend another 
 funeral, not if I lived to be eighty. But I kept 
 my resolution in about the same way we all do 
 I did go again. It was years afterwards, at the 
 death of the only child of Rachel Waterbury 
 and Robert Allison. I shall never forget it, and 
 if I live myself long enough to stand with break- 
 ing heart above my dead, I shall recall that 
 funeral sermon and John's face while he 
 preached it. John never did believe in death 
 as "an angel." Nor is death, in his opinion, a 
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 Earth to Earth, in Sure and Certain 
 
 " happy release " to anyone, save as age or suf- 
 fering makes it so. We all cling to life, in spite 
 of faith in some better life. The veriest saint 
 we know would avert the translation until some 
 other day, and when the inevitable end comes 
 he turns his face to the wall and sighs in forced 
 submission, 'while his friends, misunderstanding 
 him, call it resignation. Death is the " King 
 of Terrors," the last, most dreaded " enemy," 
 unless perchance we are morbid. And God 
 would have it so, for has He not told us in His 
 infinite compassion that the " last enemy " shall 
 himself be subject to death? 
 
 "Jesus wept," not because His friend had 
 died, for He knew that in a day he would be 
 raised again and be as though he had not died. 
 It was thought of all earth's agony, combined 
 with heaven's grief, both inevitable, that moved 
 the Christ to tears. And who shall say that He 
 was not thinking of his Father? " The chastise- 
 ment of our grief was upon him." Not only 
 our grief was His, but the chastisement of it, 
 the correction that would bring us out of it, 
 the resurrection that would restore. 
 
 But to go back to the funeral. There was 
 silence long and deep, as if words were dead, 
 and then " Rock of ages, cleft for me," was sung 
 as only John himself can sing it. " Thy riven 
 side " suggested the lesser pain of riven human 
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 Hope of the Resurrection 
 
 hearts, and when he came to the closing stanza, 
 " When I soar to worlds unknown," it seemed 
 as if we all went with him and were safely 
 housed without any sorrows to speak of. There 
 was little allusion to the great grief that all 
 knew was only too keen; breaking hearts were 
 not lacerated by unnecessary friction, the vacant 
 chair and the empty place at the hearthstone 
 were left to plead their own cause. And the 
 sermon how can I describe it? I cannot recall 
 the words of it, but the spirit of it, the subtle, 
 permeating essence, like some rare aroma, fills 
 all the house where I am sitting whenever I am 
 near a great sorrow. "Human grief" and 
 " breaking human hearts " receded. John's text 
 was that one which has more moved the world 
 than any other, that one which is like a jewel 
 upon the forehead of God whenever we look 
 towards Him " For God so loved the world that 
 he gave his only begotton Son." Rachel Water- 
 bury told me afterwards that she thought not 
 once of her own grief while John was speaking, 
 although it had seemed too great for her to bear 
 till then. She could only think of the Father 
 and of His great yearning to lift the world above 
 its grief, seeing no way to keep us from perish- 
 ing with the weight of it but by giving His only 
 begotten Son. Out of the dire necessity that 
 forced Him to give His Son for the life of the 
 
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 Earth to Earth, in Sure and Certain 
 
 world, sprang the Light of the world to illumine 
 the darkness of the grave His grave and ours, 
 with the radiance of the resurrection. And had 
 the Father no heart to be broken, as no human 
 heart can be broken, with the poignancy of 
 grief? And He was alone alone, as no human 
 heart can be alone! No tear did the world 
 shed in sympathy with the Father bereft of 
 His Son, not that His Son might have life, 
 but that a dead world might have it! And had 
 the Son no heart to bleed that He must give 
 His life a ransom for many lives? If God so 
 loved the world that He gave His only begotten 
 Son, did not Christ even so love the world? 
 One were they in love, and one in the might- 
 iest sorrow that earth and heaven ever knew. 
 What else does it mean, that testimony of the 
 prophet concerning the One who gave himself 
 " Surely he hath borne our griefs and carried 
 our sorrows ? " He hath borne them, lifted them 
 up, taken them upon himself. Because the 
 world would not let go of its sorrows, but seemed 
 to be one with them, inseparable, the Holy One 
 lifted both, the heart and its sorrows. 
 
 I had never dreamed before of the possibility 
 of suffering with the Father, of the privilege 
 which the world has, blood=bought, of sympa- 
 thizing with Him who bore our sorrows and is 
 bearing them still. 
 
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 Hope of the Resurrection 
 
 When they sang there was no sobbing, but a 
 subdued silence as if there was a Personal Pres- 
 ence, Grief, with distinct Holy Body in the room. 
 
 There is no place where earth's sorrows 
 Are more felt than up in heaven 
 
 found its way into every heart in the room, I am 
 sure, with a new and tender assurance. 
 
 And there was no sound of crying at the last. 
 It was as it should be. Faith leaped the distance 
 and rested in " sure and certain hope." It was 
 as though the moment had come in advance of 
 its time, when " God shall wipe away all tears." 
 In some indescribable way I felt that a time 
 will surely come when the world may wipe away 
 the grief of God. 
 
 In the full confidence of faith, always his own, 
 John lifted his eyes from the grave and said: 
 
 "In sure and certain hope of the resur- 
 rection" 
 
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