The Tupelo journal., 1904-10-21
The Knitted
COunterpane
/ by SUSAN HUBBARD MARTIN. !


&F q u Eve
gETHEN. the minister brought in his
wv bride to Crown Point the whol9
Woodworking, humble church member
ship stood ready to receive her with
sren arms, but at the first steady.
seIf-contained greeting of that young
lady, they felt on the whole that 1t
vas not necessary.
They loved the minister and they
wanted to love her too. but noting
The cold glance of the Keen eyes that
seemed TO take stock OF their every
nlemish and imperfection. they shrank
back abashed.
She had come from a moneyed fam
Iy. and her acquaintance with peo-
Ole who actually toiled had been slight,
but she had not heSitated hen the
minister put to her the momentous
question. The matter of life with
Bestram, or life without him, did not
take her long TO settle. for under-
Meath the crust of her worldliness
there beat a truly gentle. generous
heart, only from her manner would
never have guessed 1t.
She quite filed the parsonage with
beautiful things; pictures. statuary,
and soft carpets. Fflmy lace curtains
draped the old-fashioned windows and
the table glfttered with cut glass and
silver. She had always been accus-
toned to these things and she really
gave them little thought, but to her
husbands flock these possessions were
both a revelation and a Joy. 1t would
have been a rare treat indeed for o
Of them to have viewed these lovely
treasures with a merry feeling OF COM
radeship with the mistress Of 1t all, but
she invited no confidence, she encour-
aged no familiarity. They were bound
down by such hard, narrow lives, that
to them she seemed a bright, beautiful
being OF a world not their own.
Then too, she seemed to resent their
wHIl-meaning efforts and calls. Not
that she said anything. but she al
ways wore her coolest air and her
grandest manner every time they met,
SO they invariably left her presence
EStlluS StcdLci 6IIdHSCio tudh '
with the tall, stately girl (for she was
bat a girl), who was their minister's
wife.
They only come out OF curiosity,
Bertram," she would tell the minister
when she spoke Of their visits. ''They
come, not to see me but my house.
I declare I never saw anyone stare at
things as does Mrs. wilkins. Why
does she do it? And what do you think
Mrs. Atwood asked M yesterday? If
I knew how to play THE Maiden's
Prayer The idea! l should think she
would know better. 1t does seem to
me that the people here are 40 years
at least behind the times. l wonder
what they'd think if I'd play for them
that fantasy from List No doubt
Ghey'd much prefer My Old kentucky
Home.'"
"No doubt they would" repeated the
minister gently; "but you must not
Judge them 0 harshly, dearest. Poor
old Mrs. Atwood! And so she wanted
TO know if you knew The Maiden's
Prayer Perhaps it was the only Sc
lection she remembered from a youth
that was never an easy one
"Julia," he added after q moments
silence, ITS hard, dear, for you to
understand, but these are my people.
My life is linked with theirs, ordinary
and illiterate as some of them may be.
[ am their shepherd. Don't you re-
member what was said of Jesus in the
ministry? This-"The common people
heard him gladly All, my dear, the
common people, after all, are a great
and telling force for good or evil, and
I'm working with them and for them,
and if-(his voice trembled)--if by
any act of mine | a enrich and
widen these narrow and confined
lives, / shall feel that l have not Ia
bored in vain
His grave face lighted a little.
They're good, faithful friends, little
wife" he added, eff they cannot un-
derstand classical music, and l don't
believe, in the last day, that this charge
will be laid to them. They understand
the law of brotherly love and kind
ness at least. When l had that at
tack OF pleurisy before you came, l
believe I.certainly would have died
had it not been for Mrs. Dodge, but
7 suppose in the eyes of the world
che would be called very dowdy
and old-fashioned. She's
her bonnet W years, for she
foad me so, and she's probably
never heard of Chaucer. She could
not tell you, If her life depended upon
It. whether Byron wrote Childe Harold
or Childe Harold wrote Byron, but in
those dreadful hours of pain and fever,
~ mattered very little to me. Her
fouch was gentle, her voice soft, and
before I recovered / began to think the
main face under that shabby bonnet