HARD-SHELL SUNDAY
"This bein' Hard-shell Sunday," said the Bishop that afternoon when
his congregation met, "cattle of that faith will come up to the front
rack for fodder. Elder Butts will he'p me conduct these exercises."
"It's been so long sence I've been in a Hard-shell lodge, I may be a
little rusty on the grip an' pass word, but I'm a member in good
standin' if I am rusty."
There was some laughing at this, from the other members, and after
the Hard-shells had come to the front the Bishop caught the infection
and went on with a sly wink at the others.
"The fact is, I've sometimes been mighty sorry I jined any other
lodge; for makin' honorable exception, the other churches don't know
the diff'r'nce betwixt twenty-year-old Lincoln County an' Michigan
pine-top.
"The Hard-shells was the fust church I jined, as I sed. I hadn't
sampled none of the others"--he whispered aside--"an' I didn't know
there was any better licker in the jug. But the Baptists is a little
riper, the Presbyterians is much mellower, an' compared to all of
them the 'Piscopalians rises to the excellence of syllabub an'
champagne.
"A hones' dram tuck now an' then, prayerfully, is a good thing for
any religion. I've knowed many a man to take a dram jes' in time to
keep him out of a divorce court. An' I've never knowed it to do
anybody no harm but old elder Shotts of Clay County. An' ef he'd a
stuck to it straight he'd abeen all right now. But one of these
old-time Virginia gentlemen stopped with him all night onct, an'
tor't the old man how to make a mint julip; an' when I went down the
next year to hold services his wife told me the good old man had been
gathered to his fathers. 'He was all right' she 'lowed, 'till a
little feller from Virginia came along an' tort 'im ter mix greens in
his licker, an' then he jes drunk hisself to death.'
"There's another thing I like about two of the churches I'm in--the
Hard-shells an' the Presbyterians--an' that is special Providence. If
I didn't believe in special Providence I'd lose my faith in God.
"My father tuck care of me when I was a babe, an' we're all babes in
God's sight.
"The night befo' the battle of Shiloh, I preached to some of our po'
boys the last sermon that many of 'em ever heard. An' I told 'em not
to dodge the nex' day, but to stan' up an' 'quit themselves like men,
for ever' shell an' ball would hit where God intended it should hit.
"In the battle nex' day I was chaplain no longer, but chief of
scouts, an' on the firin' line where it was hot enough. In the
hottest part of it General Johnston rid up, an' when he saw our
exposed position he told us to hold the line, but to lay down for
shelter. A big tree was nigh me an' I got behin' it. The Gineral
seed me an' he smiled an' sed:
"'Oh, Bishop,'"--his voice fell to a proud and tender tone--"did you
know it was Gineral Johnston that fust named me the Bishop?"
"'Oh, Bishop,' he said, 'I can see you puttin' a tree betwixt yo'se'f
an' special Providence.' 'Yes, Gineral,' I sed, 'an' I looks on it as
a very special Providence jus' at this time.'
"He laughed, an' the boys hoorawed an' he rid off.
"Our lives an' the destiny of our course is fixed as firmly as the
laws that wheel the planets. Why, I have knowed men to try to hew out
their own destiny an' they'd make it look like a gum-log hewed out
with a broad axe, until God would run the rip-saw of His purpose into
them, an' square them out an' smooth them over an' polish them into
pillars for His Temple.
"What is, was goin' to be; an' the things that's got to come to us
has already happened in God's mind.
"I've knowed poor an' unpretentious, God-fearin' men an' women to put
out their hands to build shanties for their humble lives, an' God
would turn them into castles of character an' temples of truth for
all time.
"Elder Butts will lead in prayer."
It was a long prayer and was proceeding smoothly, until, in its
midst, from the front row, Archie B.'s head bobbed cautiously up.
Keeping one eye on his father, the praying Elder, he went through a
pantomime for the benefit of the young Hillites around him, who, like
himself, had had enough of prayer. Before coming to the meeting he
had cut from a black sheep's skin a gorgeous set of whiskers and a
huge mustache. These now adorned his face.
There was a convulsive snicker among the young Hillites behind him.
The Elder opened one eye to see what it meant. They were natural
children, whose childhood had not been dwarfed in a cotton mill, and
it was exceedingly funny to them.
But the young Cottontowners laughed not. They looked on in stoical
wonder at the presumption of the young Hillites who dared to do such
a deed.
Humor had never been known to them. There is no humor in the all-day
buzz of the cotton factory; and fun and the fight of life for daily
bread do not sleep in the same crib.
The Hillites tittered and giggled.
"Maw," whispered Miss Butts, "look at Archie B."
Mrs. Butts hastily reached over the bench and yanked Archie B. down.
His whiskers were confiscated and in a moment he was on his knees and
deeply devotional, while the young Hillites nudged each other, and
giggled and the young Cottontowners stared and wondered, and looked
to see when Archie B. would be hung up by the thumbs.
The Bishop was reading the afternoon chapter when the animal in
Archie B. broke out in another spot. The chapter was where Zacharias
climbed into a sycamore tree to see his passing Lord. There was a
rattling of the stove pipe in one corner.
"Maw," whispered Miss Butts, "Jes' look at Archie B.--he's climbin'
the stove pipe like Zacharias did the sycamo'."
Horror again swept over Cottontown, while the Hillites cackled aloud.
The Elder settled it by calmly laying aside his spectacles and
starting down the pulpit steps. But Archie B. guessed his purpose and
before he had reached the last step he was sitting demurely by the
side of his pious brother, intently engaged in reading the New
Testament.
Without his glasses, the Elder never knew one twin from the other,
but presuming that the studious one was Ozzie B., he seized the other
by the ear, pulled him to the open window and pitched him out on the
grass.
It was Ozzie B. of course, and Archie B. turned cautiously around to
the Hillites behind, after the Elder had gone back to his chapter,
and whispered:
"_Venture pee-wee under the bridge--bam--bam--bam._"
Throughout the sermon Archie B. kept the young Hillites in a paroxysm
of smirks.
Elder Butts' legs were brackets, or more properly parentheses, and as
he preached and thundered and gesticulated and whined and sang his
sermon, he forgot all earthly things.
Knowing this, Archie B. would crawl up behind his father and
thrusting his head in between his legs, where the brackets were most
pronounced, would emphasize all that was said with wry grimaces and
gestures.
No language can fittingly describe the way Elder Butts delivered his
discourse. The sentences were whined, howled or sung, ending always
in the vocal expletive--"_ah--ah_."
When the elder had finished and sat down, Archie B. was sitting
demurely on the platform steps.
Then the latest Scruggs baby was brought forward to be baptised.
There were already ten in the family.
The Bishop took the infant tenderly and said: "Sister Scruggs, which
church shall I put him into?"
"'Piscopal," whispered the good Mrs. Scruggs.
The Bishop looked the red-headed young candidate over solemnly. There
was a howl of protest from the lusty Scruggs.
"He's a Cam'elite," said the Bishop dryly--"ready to dispute
a'ready"--here the young Scruggs sent out a kick which caught the
Bishop in the mouth.
"With Baptis' propensities," added the Bishop. "Fetch the baptismal
fount."
"Please, pap," said little Appomattox Watts from the front bench,
"but Archie B. has drunk up all the baptismal water endurin' the
first prayer."
"I had to," spoke up Archie B., from the platform steps--"I et dried
mackerel for breakfas'."
"We'll postpone the baptism' till nex' Sunday," said the Bishop.