The Washington herald., 1913-11-23
:, JULIA cHANDLER MANI.

In the quaint and quiet little church,
which nestles snugly in the heart OF
Rock Greek Cemetery. woman sat
last Sunday morning listening to the
mingler music of the down-pouring
rain without and the caroling voices
within. and as she listened she was
thinking of you
The Yuletides, the New Years, the
casters, and the Thanksgivings of
many years marshaled themselves
through her thoughts, each with its
own particular message of Gods good
ness and mercy toward US. She knew
perfectly well that she must emphasize
on this Sunday preceding Thanksgiv-
ing its own particular meaning, re-
minding the readers of The Herald S
Page for Every Woman of their
myriad reasons for gladness and
Thanksgiving.
Thanksgiving Day!
Yes. she knew it was coming, and
just as well she knew down in the
deep, deep heart of her she had none
of the fine brave things to say to you
about being glad that she said just a
year ago, for dearest of her hfe's
treasures, has, since Thanksgiving last,
breathed his spirit back to God, and
added to this are similar losses of
very dear friends, and so it was that
she was deep in the belief that she
had nothing at all to say to all the
dear folk whom she gathers together
through this medium for a confidential
talk every first day of the week.
The Message.
Then the voices of the choir stopped
and the notes of the organ died away.
The rector of Rock Creek Parish in
formed his congregation that the earn
est-looking priest who had been sitting
apart through the service was the Rev.
Mr.. Wilcox, missionary to the Ap-
palachian Mountain section of North
Carolina, who would tell about his
work among the mountain folk.
The woman who had been thinking
about the coming of Thanksgiving
gave a little sigh of resignation, wish
ing very much in her heart that the
Appalachians and left the congrega-
ton of ST. Paups to listen to some
comforting assurance of the love of
the Saviour from its own Rector. For
you see the very same undercurrent of
selfshness which made the woman feel
that she had no Thanksgiving message
for any human being, still lurked in
her heart and mind.
Then the priest began his story. In
plain and simple words he told those
who had braved the rain to come to
church of these mountains with which
we concern ourselves so little, and of
the hundreds of fellow-beings who
people them more thickly than any
other section of the country is peopled
outside of the large cities ,of the
United States.
Because the woman cannot remem-
Der his own earnest words, she must
tell you in her own how these folk
of the Appalachians fight the battle of
life, because their bravery, their long
suffering, and their need of help is
such a stupendous thing that it cannot
fail to elicit our interest and our SYM
pathy and to make us feel how sig
nally God has blessed US.
You see they come of Sctoch-1riSh
stock-these mountaineers-the most of
them descendants of pirates, or refu-
gees of one kind or another-murder-
ers, thieves, and others who in long
years gone by evaded the penalty of
the law by fleeing TO the mountain will
derness-sturdy stock, physically, and
inheriting, at this late day and genera
ton, but the tendency to sin, which is
the heritage of every man.
Born Handicapped.
But they come into the world handi-
capped for the race, these children
OF the Appalachians, handicapped by
poverty and ignorance with few to give
them a helping hand. The lands they
till are poor and rocky. Their homes
are crude and bare. Their families
are large, the average numbering from
twelve to sixteen children, who, from
babyhood must fight their own battles
because both father and mother must
work in the fields in order just to filI