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Updated: June 2, 2025
The pastor's text was, Ye pay tithe of mint and anise and cummin, and have omitted the weightier matters of the law judgment, mercy, and faith.
At this moment the conversation was interrupted by the appearance of the pastor's man, Hans, who came to tell the "young miss" that there was a big tramp hovering about the barns in the "out-fields," where he had been sleeping during the last three nights.
A Typical Sunday. The Young People's Church. Sunday School. The Baptismal Service. Dedication of Infants. The Pastor's Thanksgiving Reception to Children. Sunrise Services. Watch Meeting. Sunday is a joyous day at The Temple, and a busy one. It is crowded with work and it is good to be there.
"You 'member 'bout last Communion Sunday," went on the little girl, "when they hand roun' the little envellups and telled all the folks what was willing to give five dollars more on the pastor's sal'y just to write his name; so Alfred he so frisky 'cause he know how to write; so he tooken one of the little envellups and wroten 'Alfred Gage' on it; so when his papa find out 'bout it he say that kid got to work and pay that five dollars hi'self, 'cause he done sign his name to it."
Although he had gone somewhat into society since that memorable first evening at his pastor's house, yet the society in which he had grown most familiar, namely: that connected with his beloved church and Sabbath-school, was not the society in which Miss Hastings more generally mingled.
That of the little girl, round, rosy, red-lipped, dimpled, merry- eyed; the aged pastor's wrinkled cheeks and furrowed brow and streaming silver beard; and the carved-ivory features of the governess, borrowing no color from the soft folds of her rich merino dress.
That silence was God's speaking hour. Within the old pastor's soul a voice was whispering before which the thunderings of the creed of a sect were hushed. He, poor man, knew full well that it was a voice which had long striven to make itself heard a still, small voice that would neither strive nor cry a haunting voice, a voice constant in its companionship during his later years.
The whole way he had been silent: and whilst his wife wept passionately at the pastor's touching address, it was only by the working of his features that Christopher showed how deeply moved he was. But on the way home he said: "I am glad I did him a kindness in his lifetime; it would now be too late."
Once a year let all our churches be cleaned with soap, and sand, and mop, and scrubbing brush, and the sexton not forget to give one turn of his broom under the pastor's chair. Would that with one bold and emphatic "scat!" we could drive the last specimen of deceitfulness and skulking from the American pulpit!
Hollingsworth came forward and stood in the pastor's place at the desk. Mrs. Molesworth twisted her neck in an endeavor to see if he had notes; Colonel Parton decided promptly that here was no orator; Belle smiled at Rosalind across the aisle, thinking of the detective.
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