Evening star., 1926-05-30

" HERE are two sides to every
situation. There were two t
the matter of Rev. John Mar
row. One, though We'll come
to that later, belonged to Johr
Marrow himself. The other belonged
to the folks who came each Sunday
to the little weather-beaten church al
the Corners to hear him preach.
They were fewer than in years past
Once the sheds in back were filled
each Sunday: the Maynes' surrey
with it's fringe around the top; the
old but well-washed blackboard of the
Laraways, the rubber. tired turnouh OF
Johnny Frazier, Walter Jones' yellow
wheeled carry-all--they were in the
same place every Sunday morning at
half-past 10, rain or snow or shine.
The sheds had not been full now,
though, for several years. The
NIaynes had gone West. The Lara.
way girls had gone away to college,
and drove, now, small scarlet car
like a. young wheeled demon, over the
hills, never dreaming of stopping at
the Corners church. Johnny Frazier
had opened a gasoline station at his
place, and his folks had a little road
side booth for selling ice cream and
ginger ale. Their best trade was on
Sunday. Walter Jones still came, sat
in the same pew; but his wife was
dead and the children never came with
him.
1t is small wonder, perhaps, that
folks didn't come. John Marrow was
getting old he talked slowly-of faith
and justification and atonement, terms
that were old-fashioned and meaning
less to the new generation. He looked
over the tops of his glasses before
. each of his many summaries. He
urged. even after 27 years. that the
young folks come to prayer meeting.
There were. perhaps, half a dozen of
the ''old guard" left; and a few of
their children came, but their grand
children not at all.
Jen Culliton was one who still came.
She never thought much about the
matter; she just went. 1t was part
of Sunday and had been ever since
she was a girl. She had been the
eldest of 10, and, oh, the scrubbingS,
the hair-smoothings, the buttonings,
the admonitions it had meant to get
nine, besides herself, ready for church
and Sunday school. You might have
thought she'd have hated it, but she
never did. There was something very
soul-satisfying in that long line Of
starched white dresses and blouses
and shining faces. 1t happened once
a. week, and only once, that they were
all clean and good together.
After she was married she had kept
on going as a matter of course. She
worked terribly hard six days out of
every week, and the seventh she
rested. Sometimes, in the first
years after her husband had died,
she was hard put to it to have whole
white dress for her girl, Margaret, or
q respectable blouse for Philip, but she
managed somehow. Now she had
taken her sisters four children to
raise, after their mothers death, and
she had Caroline. the eldest, to help
her every Sunday with Joe and Ollie
and little blind Peter.
*# x x
TOHN MARROW had been preaching
- at the Corners when she was first
married. He'd not been so old then
nor so set in his ways. He'd not had,
then, that discouraged droop to his
shoulders nor that quaver in his voice.
He was old now, there was no doubt
OF it; and yet he was as much a part
OF Sunday to Jen as was the day part
of the week. 1t was not, perhaps, the
things he said that inspired her.
Sometimes, 1t must be confessed, she
did not even listen. But she gained
a peace there, in the big musty room,
that lasted her throughout the week.
And now they were talking of put
ting him out and having the new