Evening star., 1926-05-30

f, minister from Claremont come on
Sunday afternoons. The young folks
| didn't attend; there wasn't much of
n Sunday school,; it was time they
had some young man. But Jen felt
| irritated and lost whenever she
thought about it. John Marrow was
something steady and lasting in her
| armament. She knew the things peo'
pie said were so; but she thought, too
of all the years of service the Rev.
! Mr.. Marrow had given to the little old
church, and she felt it would be sort
Of betrayal to let him go now. He did
his best, and his support was feeble.
| She got to thinking, one Sunday when
there were only a.sfew there, that
! maybe she hadn't been as faithful as
she might have been. She promised
herself she'd go to prayer meeting
Thursday night.
= x x 4
ION Thursday night Jen came in
from the barn about half-past 6.
1t was May and the old Culliton place
was filled from end to end with the
warm, soft fragrance Of apple bios
SONS and lilacs. School was over,
and the children were visiting their
father in Maryland. The house was
empty without them; but it was quiet
and restful, and Jen felt a tired con-
tent. 1t had been a good day: she and
finished a big days work. She had a
basket of eggs on her arm, and when
she reached the back porch she put
the basket on the top step and sat
beside it.
She sat silent for some minutes, let
ting the pleasant warm breeze, the
memory-laden smells and the comfort
ably drowSy settlingdown noises of
the chickens mingle with her
thoughts. Suddenly, from down to-
ward the Corners. there came faint,
sweet Ginning. the sound of the first
bell for Thursday night prayer meet
ing.
Jen gave little start-she had
forgotten it was Thursday. She got
to her feet, her big frame little
cumbersome from years and the days
accumulated WEAKNESS. She was a
queer enough figure, was Jen Culliton
"a big. bony, awkward woman in
khaki shirt and trousers, sandy hair
pushed ruthlessly back beneath a rag
ged straw hat, skin tanned and
roughened by years of work in the
open, chin square and purposeful as
any mans. And yet there was a
dignity and agelessness about Jen that
was very close to grandeur.
She went into the house, washed
at the kitchen sink and went to her
room, where she changed the khaki
clothes for q clean gingham, and
tidied her hair. Because she was tired
was no excuse to her for not keeping
her promise. even though the promise
was only to herself.
II clean forgot it was prayer-meet-
ing night" she said once to herself.
III hurry and get there before it's
over"
All the way along Jen kept thinking
of Mr.. Marrow. He lived three miles
away on little patch of stony farm
land and, even when the drifts were
the worst he was always there to
ring the first bell for prayer-meeting
He'd not been very well when he first
came, and he would just preach for
them to help out for a year or two, he
said, till he should get his strength
back. They couldn't pay much at the
Corners. of course. And here he was
yet-half farmer, half preacher
grown old among them! Jen felt a
queer tightness at her throat, just
thinking of him. She had a curious
shame because she had not oftener
gone to prayer-meeting.
Jen came near the church, it's worn
old bulk rising gray and desolate out
of the colorful May twilight. The lit
tie yard was neat, because Mr.. Mar
row kept 1t so; but the sheds were
broken and the paint was peeling off.