The Newberry herald and news. (Newberry, S.C.) 1884-1903, 1892-06-08
TAe gYera11 and U5eap5. 8
THE PARSONS BABY
A Saturday Sermonette.
HY FRANCIS EATON.

A correspondent Of the Atlanta Jour-
nal furnished that paper with the fol-
lowing touching little story, giving
due credit to Harper's BaZar, from
which it bad been clipped, and ex-
pressing the belief that every woman
would enjoy the sweet little sermon
preached US by 1.-THE Parsons Baby"
Every white flower had been cut IN
the village. The parsons baby was
dead. The news of a fire never travel
ed faster through the Main street.
Even the hurly saloon keeper, the
one rum-seller in the place, who looked
upon the parson as his natural enemy,
when told the fatal news, exclaimed.
"By God! that's rough THAT'S
rough3
The cobbler's crippled daughter sent
her one white rose. She had wondered
as it grew, who could be worthy OF Its
beauty.
Small groups of children stopped On
their way to school, and were led into
the dim parlor to look upon the beau
tiful up-turned face. which, for the
first time, refused them smile. One
of them asked to touch the dimpleo
hands which were folded over the little
heart which had known the "orlos
love, but not its bitterness.
Death had come suddenly, ana MS
aspect must have been less terrible than
the children had been led to believe
for there was no hint Of resistance III
the peaceful face; but the grim shade"
was still thrown across the room, and II
awed the children, although it coulo
not make them feel afraid.
"I don't believe he likes 1t so DARE
here" whispered little Betty Parks.
And the parsons wife threw open the
blinds, and the June sunshine sho'
past her drawn white face and flooded
the room. 1t danced upon the tiny
yellow curls until they seemed to move
with life.
"He likes that, am sure" and little
Betty smiled and her voice gre"
stronger, as if the light of the resurrec'
ton bad already driven the blackes'
shadows from thetenlb- .---,---..,r
"Betty is right" said the parson' try
ing to smile.
AS the children passed out, they me!
tall, lank Deacon Perkins and little fa1
Deacon Potter. They knew that the
two deacons had not spoken to eact
other-no, not. even after passing the
bread and wine on communion Sun
dav-since the last presidential cleo
ton. Yet chance had brought them a
the same moment to the parsons gate
and neither was willing to retreat. ThF
children watched them as they passec
up the gravel walk without exchang
ing 3 word, and went into the house.
"Mean old things?' exclaimed little
BETTY. "I should think they'd o'
ashamed o themselves not to speaF
when it makes the parson feel 81
bad"
In q moment the deacons were IN tn
presence of the still, tiny form. Small
as its proportions, pulseless as It's nearV
hnI
it represented that which man ma
reyerenced and feared since the human
mind and heart began to think ane
feel-innocence and death.
Even as tactless men as the deacon'
were silent before the anguish whlcf
could awe their small souls, althougs
thew failed to comprehend 1t; but ~
its power the lank deacon was LED oacf
many years, and he saw himself
Young man, no older than the parson
standing beside a little form whenc'
the spirit had taken its fight; and tn
parsons face recalled it as 1t had no
been brought for years. The deacon
dry heart rustled little in his breast a
he drew near the small white shape
and 10! memory had saved each tea
he shed so long ago, and now sh'
poured them freely on his parched olf
heart, and for the hour it became frest
again.
The fat little deacon seeing that h'
fingered near the babe, and wishing
not to be outdone in loyalty to his par
son bv deacon who could desert hl
political party in it's darkest hour, like
wise advanced with gentle step anf
stood near the silent babe.
No sooner had he cast his eye upol
the marble face, than he, too, wen
back in years farther than his orothe
in the church had gone.
The very day was like this day. Ih'
scent of roses filled the air, and I'M
sound of children's laughter came II
through the open window.
He remembered how it smote III
sore little heart, for the baby, the bes
beloved of the household, was dead
From that day to this he had neve
seen a dead baby. He bent over IN
little face. He could see the faint oIu'
outlines underneath the pale lid Justa
he saw it through his boyish tears s.
many years ago, and felt that II n
waited patiently the dear eyes woul'
open and look up again.
He had forgotten his brother deacon
Never had he forgotten him IN tn
church, when, in bitter silence the!
had met and parted.
"You remember, don't you," he sai'
softly, then stopped suddenly, TOR tn
sound of his voice called him oaci
from the past.
The tall, lauk man beside him wa
no longer the school-fellow whc hat
led him away after the baby was burled