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Updated: May 27, 2025
"Drive a half-mile further east," he said after their boisterous greetings. "That's where we eat to-night at Ambery's. Then just across the road to the church. We've got something special on." "A box supper," asked J.W., "or a bean-bag party?" But he knew better. Marty told him to wait and see. Supper was a pleasant meal, the Amberys being pleasant people, who lived in a cozy new house.
And there was a feed, after all; but it was distinctly light refreshments, such as J.W. was used to at Delafield First Church. On the way back to the Amberys', and well into the night in Marty's room, they talked about the circuit and its work. "It isn't a circuit, rightly, you know," Marty said.
They bought two acres for less than the price of a town lot, and they have most of the farm comforts as well as all the modern conveniences. You didn't notice any signs of homesickness, did you?" No, J.W., hadn't, though he knew the retired-farmer sort of homesickness when he saw it. "And the Amberys are worth more to the church than they ever were," Marty added.
But J.W. was mystified to hear Marty speak of Henry Ambery as a retired farmer. He knew retired farmers in town, plenty of them, and some no happier for being there. But in the country? "Oh," said Marty, "that's easy. Our church is the social hub of all this community, and I told the Amberys that if they built here they would be as well off as in town. I'm right too.
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