As usual Parson Smedley was early at the little white meeting house up on Hog Back Ridge. "Hymn books in place, pulpit looks shinier'n a silver dollar on a twelve year old's birthday. Sister Jones must'a polished it. Now let me make sure I don't lose my notes--put 'em on the pulpit to make sure." Smedley ceased his Sunday morning checklist as he looked over the neat little room from his familiar vantage point behind the pulpit. As he surveyed the pews that would soon hold the little flock, he directed some words heavenward.
"Lord, you know right many ah your people been here and there lately. Sometimes I feel like a man a tryin' to herd minners in a pond. They go so many ways I don't know where to head. Lord, I cain't ketch 'em but you kin. You caught Balaam 'n' you caught Jonah 'n'you caught Saul a Tarsus. Lord, please gather up this bunch 'n' git 'em to your house today."
Smedley finished praying; to be ready for Sunday School he got out the new chalk board (after a year and a half he had finally persuaded the deacons to buy one.) It was just then that Zeke Hawkins arrived.
"Guess your right surprized to see me ain'cha preacher?" Indeed Smedley had been doing his best to hide the double shock at seeing Zeke in church at all, let alone early. The parson was pleased that Zeke hurried on without waiting for an answer. "You 'member my ole cow, Bessy? Well, I ain't been able to be in church cuzzin by the time I milk her and feed her and strain the milk and put it in the spring house, well, I jest don't have time ta get ta church."
This story oft' told, always caused the parson's collar to feel a bit tight and hot. He was about to comment that he had a cow to milk and chickens to feed and still he made it, but fortunately Zeke blurted on.
"Well, I went out to the barn this mornin' 'n' she was deader'n a revenuer on Hound Tooth Ridge."
Smedley had hardly had time to feel guilty for not having a greater burden of grief for the late Bessy, when in rushed Lulu O'Toole. Lulu had wondered for years why no one had come to the realization that she would make a good wife. Lulu had advanced beyond desperation years ago. Her search for a man had reached an intensity that matched her ample proportions. Smedley knew from long experience that Lulu's conversation was like a passing freight train. Wisdom demanded that one stand back and let it pass. To interrupt was to be run over.
"I nevuh!" she said with such force that Smedley already pitied whoever the unfortunate soul was who had the misfortune of crossing Lulu. "And to think of all the chess pies and strawberry preserves and fried chicken I fed that man."
"She must be talking about that flatland insurance salesman," thought Smedley. Neighbors had seen his buggy parked in front of Lulu's every Sunday morning and several evenings a week. "I suppose a man could learn to put up with Lulu for her cookin'. She kin sure cook--maybe if a fella' was blind 'n' deaf . . ." Smedley's unpreacherly thoughts were interrupted by a sudden rise in Lulu's volume and pitch.
"He took it! He took it all!" Between dabs and sniffles into the preacher's gallantly offered handkerchief, Lulu's tale unfolded. It turned out that Lulu's suitor was interested in more than her biscuits and jam. Seems he had taken Lulu's jewelry to have it appraised so it could be "properly insured." Her grandma's basin and pitcher were gone to. The insurance peddler hadn't been seen for three weeks, and rumor was he had been transferred out west.
Zeke was settling in, or trying to, while Lulu continued her tirade against "men!" to whomever would listen, when such a crowd began to fill the back of the meeting house that Parson Smedley was about ready to go outside and read the sign and make sure that this was indeed the "Hog Back Ridge Meeting House."
There were squirrel guns that wouldn't shoot, horses that pulled up lame right before a big trip to the city, a flat-bottom boat that got loose and went down the river, a still busted by revenuers, a coon hunt put off because of sick dogs, not to mention relatives that sent word on Saturday that they couldn't make it for Sunday after all.
Nobody could remember when the little church had been so full.
When old Abraham showed up, late as usual, Deacon McSpraggins had to seat him on the front row, "Right in Spittin' range." It so upset the old gentleman's system that Parson Smedley was a good five minutes into his message before the old-timer could get to sleep.
Folk left the church talking about "the fine message," and "wadn't little Samantha's song an inspiration?" Not a few were obviously moved by the impact of the too long neglected Word of God. Sooner or later just about everyone who had worshiped at the Hog Back Ridge Meeting House that Sunday got around to asking, "I wonder what the Parson meant when he prayed, "Lord, I thank you for takin' the gravel out of our pockets so we would have room for some diamonds.""
Prologue -- Next Tale
Prologue -- Next Tale
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