Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1910-04-23

it was all finished 'ceptin the spire.
We'd all kind o. drawed out when it
come t the expense o putin up the
spire, and on this kan, peaceful Sunday
mOrnin' the parson he was a-roastin us
somethin' proper bout our neglectin' t
contribute toward the putin on o that
spipe. He sure did give it to US good
bout the way we'd been reniggin over
comm to the front with the price O. that
there sptre He told us that the grace
wa'ant In us. and that he was tired o
wastin' his breath astn' us to donate
toward the finishin's o. the meetin' house
by clappin' the spre on to the corner
that was all built and waitin for 1t.
"'sech bein' the case the parson
wound up, the grace havin' all percolat-
ed out'n you and you all havin' become
self-indulgent worldins. I hereby tender,
i'll open session. my resignation as min
parsnn sure did look as mad as a. cat in
a rain barrel when he Sid them words
but the good old bonbre- hadn't no
sooner finished speakin' before It become
the church, although it were midday
and then We heard the screechn', Shrek
In noise that we all knowed too we'll
They wa ant no chanst for us t. git TO
our own cyclone cellars, and We hadn't
built none longside the meetin' house
some o misdoubtin' whether that
wouldn't kind of show distrust O. benef
cent providence, and SO we jes' nachul-
~ held down our pews and waited FIR
the meetin' house to be picked up and
carried wherever the good Lord meant
It to be carried.
Howso1nenever 1t wa ant carried no.
where's. The wind on'y shreked bout
half dozen times, and then we heearn
heavy. plun1pin', grindin' noise on top
o the meetin house. like as II bout
thousand shfnglers with tobnail shoes
was workin' up there on the roof.
1.-THE wind died away as sudden as
it had commenced t. squeak, and the
sun come out in lessn three minutes aft
er it had become so dim and dark inside
the church to see which direction the
blow had taken, and to the southwark
we seen big, drab-gray, keg-shaped
cloud movin' toward the prairie horizon
at bout a ten-mile-a-minnit clip. while
overhead the sky was jes' as blue as
blum in a tub.
But the big. drab-gray, keg-shaped
cloud wa'ant the ony thing we seen.
We seen as handsome. nifty, well-ht-
tin, green-painted a spire atop o. that
built for a spire as ever you seen sence
the day you was born. We knowed that
1t wa'ant no miracle. neither. but jes'
plumb. bullhead luck
i" Seems t me- says the parson says
he. that that's the spire off'n the Bap-
fist Church up at Wichita and sure
enough the parson was right, f'r, ten
or fifteen minnits later, the station tele-
in that he'd Jes got wire from Wichita
Wichita is on'y forty-seven mile north
east O. our town-statin' that a drab-
gray, keg-shaped cloud had hiked to-
ward the southwest carryin' the spire
o the Baptist meetin' house long with
it, and astin' US to look out FIR 1t should
it happen t pass over our town SOS the
Wichita Baptists could trace it and know
what become O. 1t.
"And there was the spire, fitted on t.
our meetin' house that needed 1t so bad,
as snug as a buckskin glove! Well, the
parson he said that the Lord'd 'scuse us
FIR dom manual labor on the Lords day
in sech a good cause, and he put all O.
us men to work a-nailin' that providential
spire t. our meetin' house and maxim it
fast.
THE Baptist parson from Wichita come
dowI. to our town the next day and
made a awful kick t. our parson over his
keepin' the spire. but our parson told him
that he was disputin' the dispensations O.
Divine Providence as manifested by the
winds o. the heavens. We all Clipped in
a little toward the missionary fund o.
the Wichita Baptists, t sort o. square the
thing up, but we virchully got that spire
f'r nothin, all the same and If that
drab-gray, keg-shaped cloud wa'ant luck
Ter FIR us than rabbit dog that springs
a flock O. quail ev'ry time he chases his
tail in the tall grass, then I'm missin'
guess, podner, l sure am an no mistaken
Then he went on his way, tanning his
face despite the high wind OF the board
walk. with his wide sombrero. and
passed on In the other direction, my
ment. CLARENCE L. CULLEN.