The Savannah morning news., 1901-11-03
PASTOR MARVIN'S
CONVERSION
BY Winthrop Allen.


Church going was good enough for
women. argued the sturdy miners of
the Cross Cut Coal Company. 1t kept
their tongues wagging on other themes
than the shortcomings of their hus-
bands. But for men! Well. why should
they, on this one day in seven, when
they might bask in sunshine and
breathe air unpolluted by noxious gas
and firedamp, shut themselves within
the narrow walls Of Zion Church?
Yet strangely enough. on this partic-
ular Sunday in May, everyone of them
manifested a surprising determination
TO be numbered in Parson Marvin's
flock, and loud and earnest were the
demands for shoe brushes and boiled
shirts"
1t was old Tom Caughey, boss of No.
shaft, who told Father Feeley the
reason, as he stood, hat in hand, when
his spiritual adviser came out from
early mass.
ITS no hard penance you'll put on
me, father, for goin' to Pastor Mar
wins church the day? Sure, it's little
Arthur that'll be preachin' to the peo-
pie of Wymore Gap for the first time.
He's been away to college these three
years, an they do say he's a smart
in the carriage with me, an has play
ed roun' the breakers ever since me
own Tim"
He paused, and Father Feeley grasp
ed the thin, muscular hand.
With the saints by now. Caughey,
never fear. Yes, you go and hear
young Marvin. l mind him myself, a
likely-spoken and civil-mannered lad,
who seemed always to love our mines
and men,
Three hours later, Arthur Marvin
stood, with tightly folded arms, gaz-
ing from his window, across the square
TO the church which had been his
fathers charge, and which, according
10 the rules and regulations of the
denomination he represented, might
now become his.
Eagerly he watched for each familiar
face in that slow gathering 'congrega-
ton. There was Mary MacNeaI, whose
husband and son had been killed in
the explosion of 81. She still wore
black, and she had company in plenty
Tor there were pretty Bessie Mcguire
whose Dick had been caught in a
premature blast, and Lizzie Dugan,
whose husband of three happy months
had gone down with the last nasty
cave-in, and-yes, there was dear old
Caughey. A band of rusty black still
chung around his Sunday hat, though
10 Arthur il seemed years since he
and Tim-square- shouldered, light
hearted, honest-intentioned Tim-had
chased round the breakers together.
Then, one day Tim had gone down to
work In his fathers shaft-and had
never come up again. Just one day.
Arthur felt a strange grip on his
throat. He turned abruptly from the
window as Caughey, with uncertain
steps, entered the unaccustomed place
of worship.
They crossed the little square to-
gether. pastor Marvin. tall. stalwart
ana proud respite his three-score
years: arthur. trifie shorter. slighter
ana falrer than his father but with
the same determination in his bearing
and Lucy. No one in all Wymore Gap
knew Lucy's history. Pastor Marvin
mad one day been called suddenly to
Philadelphia. and when he had come
back. Lucy had come too Some said
she was the daughter of a boyhood
friend who, in dying had bequeathed
the child to the Marvins. Another
popuar tale held that she was the or
phan OF repentant parishioner Be
that as it might, the gossips united
IN declaring that Lucy had developed,
in the placid life of Zion parsonage,
Ike a rare mountain flower, and that
II she did not, in due time, accent the
heart and hand of Arthur Marvin,
then truly would every tradition OF
poetic and romantic justice be shat
tered
Side by side walked father and son.
down the center aisle, and up the
steps to the hair-cloth sofa behind the
saunt, unlovely pulpit. Side by side
they sank on their knees, and old
Caughey nervously lingering the crepe
band on his old fashioned derby muir.
INJURED an Ave" unconscious of its In.
congruity in this church where there
were neither affairs, nor candles, nor
sad-eyed madonnas.
When the simple Introductory serv-
ice was finished. Arthur rose, I'M
folded his manuscript and announced
his text. Then he paused and looked
almost wistfully into the uplifted faces
BY some strange coincidence, Mary
MacNeal, Bessie Mcguire. Lizzie Du-
gan and old Caughey sat close to-
gether on the right hand aisle. His
glance rested. as if hypnotized, on that
blur OF black, then with shaking
hands, he turned the first page of his
sermon.
1t was dissertation on the resur-
rection of Lazarus, and the people lis
tened wonderingly to his vivid word
pictures of the scene, his sonorous pc
RODS. the infections of his rich. WELL
trained voice. For twenty minutes he
strike against a sounding board and
come back to him with a knocking, me-
tallic ring. Yes. Arthur Marvin, their
Arthur. whom they had known and
loved as babe. lad and youth, had
come back to them knowing many
wonderful things. and yet
They did not understand. but he did.
1t pierced his very soul. Their disap-
pointment was pitiful. In some way he
had failed them-how they could not
say.
He reached his peroration. What
was he to tell them? That men no
longer needed miracles to convince
them of the love and tenderness of
God? Suddenly before his eyes rose
a grayish mist. and, in the center of
IL, stood out the black-robed group on
the right-hand aisle. He faltered,
stammered a few words and abruptly
folded his manuscript.
The prayer which followed was
more lifeless. more cold, than the SER
mon. Lucy. listening as one frozen in
shocked surprise. forgot to bow her
head, and with wide-open eyes watch
ed the face of the young preacher,
now almost harsh in its sternness.
She slipped out the side door. and
when father and son, still erect still
proud, still silent, entered the parson-
age dining room, a bouquet of fresh
spring flowers graced the table. They
seemed almost a mute, gentle prayer
for tolerance. for patience. but the eyes
OF the elder man never strayed their
way Finally he dropped his fork. his
napkin slipped to the floor. and one
strongly Veined hand fell upon the Ia