The Opelousas courier., 1892-12-17

~ E&@ amubS tHS Dlack
--SS stumps of the half
cleared fields, tor every soul in the place
from the old man of ninety to the young.
est child, was ia the meeting house on
the hill-every soul, that is, except
Abner True.
Abner True, whose father was a
deacon and tithing-man, and counted
second only to the minister himself in
rigid piety, was actually playing truant
from meeting; and this in a village
which locked upon Plymouth and Wey.
mouth as dangerously worldly towns,
relaxed in morals and manners By over.
much prosperity.
But Abner had worked from sun to
sun every day of the last week. and
knew he must do the same every day of
the next week and the week after that;
for the corn was to be hoed, the grass
crops got in, and a score of other tasks
to be done.
1t seemed to him too hard that. on
this one day of rest, he should be Obliged
to sit upon a backless plank bench all
the forenoon, if, indeed, he did not find
himself forced to sit there longer; since
Parson Pladley, who rarely preached less
than three hours, sometimes preached
four, and ones or twice had been known
to exceed five hours.
Abner felt sure that the sermon would
not be a short n this day, even accord.
ing to the preachers ideas of breyity.
and the more he thought of it the more
he dreaded it, until he became. willing
to incur any punishment for the sake OF
escaping that discourse. a
So when Deacon Amos, with his wife
and younger children, were ready
Tor meeting, no Abner could be 70 und.
Hidden in the little hay-mow of the
rough barn, he saw the family depart
his father marching ahead, equipped
with musket, bandoleer and powder
horni for King Philip and his Indians
were at war against the whites, and no
man throughout the colony went to field
or church without his arms.
Similar groups, similarly ACQUIRED,
paced solemnly along toward the rude
sanctuary upon the hill, until Abner,
seeing that all HuddersfeId had passed.
felt that he was safe-for the present
and lay down upon the soft hay to pre-
pare for the sound nap he had so longea
for.
Below old Fly, the farm horse, stampe$
and munched; without, the hens crowed
In the sunshine, with a drowsy note that
should have been favorable enough for
lumber But between his guilty con.
seriousness of what he had done and his
dread of Deacon Amos would do. Abner
could not manage to go to sleep.
He began to wish himself upon that
backless plank bench, even if the sermon
were to last all day; yet a tardy arrival
would be nearly as great offence as not to
come at all and he had not the courage
to meet the public reproof which Parson
Pladley might administer, or to hasten
the private cnastisement that Deacon
Amos would surely infict.
The time went on. Tue old house
sas still now the hens uttered only ar
occasional croak. From the far distance
the preachers voice came down ON the
warm breeze in a softened murmur,
AbDer was doing.
What was thata He heard D sound
that Wakened him quite, and he sprang
up to listen.
Nothing but a slight swishing soun1
in the tall grass behind the barn-noth
ing but that. II was probably sone fox
Or polecat on the watch TO snatch )
chicken. Abner peered out through 6
crack to see if he could discover III,
Animal, for the sHishing sound seemed
drawing near.
In the Westinghouse Parson PIadIes
had turned his big hour glass twice. and
now the sands of tae third hoar wer.
almost spent. Before him rows. OF serious
men, women and children in re7erent
attention, not one removing their earn
est eyes from the minister.
The heavy door was flung oDen ana
shut again with a loud bang that startled
every member III the congregation.
boy, staggering and streaming with per.
SEPARATION, ran up tile broad aisle and
fell exhausted at the foot of the pulpit.
Every man stretched out his hand te
the mnsket that stood beside him: hui
no one rose, no one said d wort Or lit
tered an exclamation.
Whatever the danger was-and tnes
knew well what it might be-tais va
Gods house, and IL II none but God: