CHURCH

WE were not without church in my youth. Services were regularly held in the school house. One Methodist minister was holding a meeting in the schoolhouse. The stove stood in the center of the schoolroom, and a long line of pipe went to the end of the room, and so out of the building. At this particular meeting the service was progressing, and the minister knelt by a bench in front of the stove to pray He prayed long and loud. But suddenly that long stove pipe decided to take a hand in things, toppled, swayed, then fell, and struck the praying preacher square on his head and bounced off! He thought some one had struck him, so nimbly hopped around the corner of the seat, still on his knees, and quickly finished his prayer.

There were two cronies who were always in mischief of some kind. Jeff became converted, and felt it his duty to preach, although he was entirely without training and of limited education. His long suit seemed to be to tell of all the wicked things he had done in his sinful life, giving God the glory of having saved him. One night he stood before the congregation, and as usual, began to tell bow many wicked things lie had done. He was in the midst of this recital, when Marion, his partner in mischief, began to sing lustily, "The Half Has Never Been Told." The house roared. To this day I can hear that hymn without a smile.

Then there were camp meetings held in a grove where there were shade and water. People took their tents and meager house equipment, and stayed for the duration of the meeting.

Some funny things happened. One lady, who was noted for borrowing, went to a tent one morning and said,

"Sister Bridgefarmer, will you lend me a little sugar, please? I want to bake a lemon pie."

She went to other tents, with the same story, except that she borrowed the flour, shortening, eggs and all else that was needed. When the neighbors began checking up, it was found that the borrowing neighbor had only the lemon, and had borrowed everything else to make her pie!

One summer during camp meeting it was very dry, and the crops were badly in need of rain. So the good brethren and sisters decided to pray for rain. They duly met and prayed but one old fat preacher, whose name I no longer remember, prayed,

"Lord send us rain. We need rain. Don't send us a rippin', tearin', snortin' rain, but just a gentle sizzle sozzle."

As I remember it now, we got the rain.

By the way, it was at one of these camp meetings, surrounded by friends who loved me, and whom I loved, that I made my peace with God.

High Prairie boasted two ministers, both Baptists. Mr. Putman was a good solid family man from New York, while Mr. Cheyne was a Scotchman, with a family, an accent, and an in temper. These two brothers had a misunderstanding about some trivial matter, and it grew and grew. Mr. Cheyne told my Mother one day, with his Scotch burr much in evidence,

" I say it and I say it r-r-r-re-ligiously, that Putman is adommed r-r-r-rascal.