Gloucester County Democrat. (Woodbury, N.J.) 1878-1932, 1883-08-16

might have copied advantageouSly il
the pulpit, sit amt no use. You XII
talk about seein' with the spirit, an
worshippin' with the spirit; anybod.
needs little somethin' to catch hold OF
with the flesh when it's all spirit it,
too much for mortal bein' to compre
hend, an the Lord knows amt nevel
had much of anything but spirit.
amt never had any evidence, so tt
answered in my life. If have, I'd jest
| like to know how. You say, mebbe
they've been answered Jest the same
only in different way from ! asked
for. Ef you call it answerin' prayer tC
give one thing when you ask for another
l don't. An I'd rather not believe
thar was any God than to believe He'd
do thing like that. That's jest con-
trary to what He said about Himself
an the bread an the stone in the New
Testament. It's worse to think He'd
cheat anybody like that than to think
He amt anywhar, aecordin' to my
mind. No, Mr.. Pendleton, human
bein' needs little human evidence once
in while to keep up their faith, an /
amt never had any. I'll jest let you
know how it's been a leetle. Here /
am, an old woman, an me an Jack
sons lived here on this rock for forty
year. AM thar's being things I've
wanted different, but l amt never had
'em-things that I've cried an groaned
an prayed to the Lord for-big things
an little things-but I never got one.
Eff the Lord had give me one of the
little things, it seems to me that 1
might have got feeling that He was
here.
''Forty year ago, when Jackson an
me was jest married an set up house
keepin' here, thar was an awful storm
one night, an my father an broth
er was out yonder in it. 1 staid on
my knees all night prayin'. The next
mornin' their two darlin' bodies was
washed ashore. My brother had only
been married few months-the sweet
est, lovingest little thing she was.
She began to pine. l prayed to hev
her spared. She died, an left her little
baby
'But you had him for your own, did
you not p interrupted Mr.. Pendleton,
desperately. "He has been a comfort
to you. God has displayed His love
and mercy in this case in sparing him
to you
''Mr. Pendleton''-andt the rheuma-
tic hand went up again-''I amt never
asked to hey him spared to me eff had
it would hev been different. Iain't got
through yet. Thar's been lots of other
things, big ones, that 1 might jest as
well not speak Of, and little ones. Look
at that bridge ! I'll ventur' to say that
you shook in your shoes when you came
over it, an wouldn't be sorry this min
ute eff you was safe back. Whenever
jackson goes over it my heart is still
an cold till he comes back, for fear he's
fell through. I've prayed to the Lord
about that. Then-you may think this
a little thing-but thar is Jackson's
garden. He set out a rosebush in it
fifteen year ago. Well, it amt died.
Thar amt ever been rose on it, though.
An it seems to me sometimes that if
thar should be jest one rose on that bush
that should believe that the Lord had
been thar. You wouldn't think I'd
been silly enough to pray about that.
hey. It's fifteen year, an thar ain'tnever
been a rose thar. No, Mr.. Pendleton,
it amt no use. You mean well, but it
lays with God, eff He's anywhar, to
show Himself to me in way 1 can get
hold on.
So tie pretty, rosy-faeed young min
ister would go away, picking his way
cautiously over the unstable bridge, after
a somewhat nonplussed prayer, which
Mrs. Reed, incapacitated from kneeling
by her rheumatic knees, had sat and lis
tened to grimly.
The Bar Lighthouse was three miles
from Rye. A sandy, desolate road,
almost us billowy as the sea, stretched
between, The only house in the whole
distance was little brown one just at
the other side of the bridge. They sup
ported themselves by sewing for shop
in Rye. Jackson Reeds nephew, Will
liam Barstow, had been engaged to
marry the daughter-Abby her name
was but month ago he had brought
wife home from the city. He had
rented pretty little tenement over in
Rye, and gone to housekeeping. Abby
Weaver had tied up few little notes
and keepsakes in neat parcel, and put
them away out Of sight. Then she went
on with her work. She was plain,
trustworthy looking girl, with no show
about her, as different as possible from
the one her recreant lover had married.
She was pretty, with an entrancing-lit-
tie air of style about everything she
wore. Abby had seen her go by few
times in jaunty velvet jacket and
killed petticoat, with the fair round
face with its fringe of fluffy blonde hair
smiling up at her husband out Of be-
witching little poke. Then she had
gone and looked at herself in her poor
glass, taking in the old black alpaca,
the plain common face with the dull
hair combed back from her forehead.