ETHEL HUESTGN
ILLUSTRATED BY
(Copyright, tiy 11 its Bobhs-Merrill Company.)
CHAPTER I.
Introducing Her.
None but the residents consider
Mount Mark, Iowa, much of a town,
and the very most patriotic of them
ull has no word of praise for the ugly
little red C. B. & Q. railway station.
Mount Mark is anything but proud of
the little station. At the same time it
certainly does owe the railroad and the
state a debt of gratitude for its pres
ence there. It is the favorite social
rendezvous for the community! The
arrival of a passenger train in Mount
Mark is an event—something in the
nature of a C. B. & Q. “at home,” and
Is always attended by a large and en
thusiastic gathering of “our best
people.” All that is lacking are the 1
proverbial “light refreshments!”
So it happened that one sultry morn
ing, late in the month of August, there j
wus the usual Mutter of excitement and i
confusion on the platform and in the
waiting room of the station. The ha- |
bitues were there in force. Conspicu- !
ous among them were four gayly
dressed young men, smoking cigarettes
and gazing with lack-luster eyes upon j
the animated scene, which evidently
bored them.
The Dally News reporter, in a well
creased, light gray suit and tan shoes,
and with eyeglasses scientifically bal
anced on his aquiline nose, was making
pointed inqniries into the private plans
of the travelers. The young woman
going to Burlington to spend the week
end was surrounded with about fifteen
other young women who had come to
“see her off.” Mount Mark is a very
respectable town, be It understood, and
girls do not go to the station without
an excuse!
A man in a black business suit stood
alone on the platform, his hands in
his pockets, his eyes wandering from j
one to another of the strange faces
about hint. His plain white ready-made
tie proclaimed his calling.
"It's the new Methodist, minister."
volunteered the baggnge master, cross
ing the platform. "I know him. He’s
not a bad sort."
“They say he’s got five kids, and
most of ’era girls," responded the Ad
ams express man. “I want to be on
hand when they get here, to pick out a
girl."
"Yah!’’ mocked the telegraph opera
tor, bobbing his head through tile win
dow, "you need to. They tell me every
girl in Mount Mark has turned you
down a’read.v.”
Hut the Methodist minister, gazing
away down the track, where a thin
curl of smoke announced the coming
of No. 9 and Prudence—heard nothing
of this conversation. He was not a
handsome man. His hair was gray at
the temples, his face was earnest, only
saved from severity by the little clus
ters of lines at Ills eyes and mouth
which proclaimed that he laughed
often and with relish.
“Train going east 1”
The minister stood back from the
crowd, but when the train came pound
ing In a brightness leaped into his
eyes. A slender girl stood In the vesti
bule, waving wildly at him a small
gloved hand. When the train stopped
she leaped lightly from the steps.
“Father!” she cried excitedly, and,
small and slight ns she was, she el
bowed her way swiftly through the
gaping crowd. “Oh, father!” And she
(lung her arms about him joyously, un
conscious of admiring eyes. Her father
kissed her warmly. “Where is your
baggage?” he asked, a hand held out
to relieve her.
“Here I" And with a radiant smile
she thrust upon him a box of candy
and a gaudy-covered magazine.
“Your suitcase," he explained pa
tiently.
“Oh 1“ she gasped. “Run, father
mat I loft It ou the train 1"
Father did run. but Prudence, fieetor
footed, outdistanced him and clam
bered on board, panting.
When she rejoined lier father her
face was hushed. “Oh, father," she
?akl quite snapplly, “isn’t that just like
me?”
“Yes, very like,” he agreed, and he
imiled.
“And so tills is Mount Mark! Isn’t
it a funny name, father? Why do they
:•«!! it Mount Mark-?”
“I don’t know. I hadn’t thought to
inquire. We turn here, Prudence. This |
is Main street. The city part of the
town—the business part—is to the
south."
“It’s a pretty street, isn’t it?” she
cried. “Such nice hig maples, and such
shady, porchy houses. I love houses I
with porches, don't you? Hus the par
sonage a porch?”
“Yes. a big one on the south, and a
tiny one in front. We have the house ;
fixed up pretty well. Prudence, hut of
course you’ll have to go over it your
self and arrange it as you like. I must
go to a trustees’ meeting at two
o’clock, hut we can get a good deal
done before then. Mrs. Adams is com
ing to help you this afternoon. She I
Is one of our Ladies, and very kind.
There, that is the parsonage!"
Prudence gazed in silence. Many
would not have considered it a beauti
ful dwelling, but to Prudence it was
heavenly. Fortunately the wide, grassy,
shaded luwq greeted one first. Great,
spreading maples bordered the street,
and clustering rosebushes lined the
walk leading up to the house. The par
sonage, to Prudence’s gratified eyes,
looked homey, and hig, and inviting.
There were many windows, and the
well-known lace curtains looked down
upon Prudence tripping happily up the
little board walk—or so it seemed to
her.
“Two whole stories, nnd an attic be
sides! Not to mention the bathroom!
Oh. father, the night after you wrote
there was a bathroom, Constance
thanked God for it when she said her
prayers. And a furnace, too! And
electric lights! Oh, we have waited
a long time for it, and we’ve been very
patient Indeed, but. between you nnd I
me, father, I am most mightily glad
we’ve hit the luxury land at last. I’m
sure we'll all feel much more religious
In a parsonage that has a bathroom
and electric lights ! Oh. father !”
He had thrown open the door, and
Prudence stood upon the threshold of
her new home. Together she und her
father went from room to room, up
stairs and down, moving a table to the
left, a bed to the right—according to
her own good pleasure. Afterward
they had a cozy luncheon for two in
the “dining room."
“Oh, It is so elegant to have a din
ing room," breathed Prudence happily.
“I always pretended It was rather fun,
nnd a great saving of work, to eat and
cook nnd study and live in one room,
but inwardly the idea always outraged
tne. Is that the school over there?”
“Yes, that’s where Connie will go.
There is only one high school in Mount
Mark, so the twins will have to go to ,
the other side of town—a long walk,
but in good weather they can come
home for dinner.”
“Oh, thnt’s a lovely place over there,
father!" exclaimed Prudence, looking
from the living room windows toward
the south. “Isn’t it beautiful?"
“Yes. The Avery family lives there.
The parents are very old and feeble, I
and the daughters are all—elderly— j
and all schoolteachers. There are four
of them, and the youngest is fortv-six. j
Dear me, it is two o’clock already, and
I must go at once. Mrs. Adams will ,
be here in a few minutes, and you will
not be lonely."
But when Mrs. Adams arrived nt the
parsonage she knocked repeatedly, and
In vain. Finally she gathered her robes :
about her and went into the back yard. ]
She peered into the woodshed, and saw 1
no one. She went into the barn lot,
and found it empty. In despair, she
plunged into the barn—and stopped
abruptly.
In a shadowy corner was n slender
figure kneeling beside an overturned
nnilkeg, her face buried in her hands.
Evidently this was Prudence engaged
In prayer—and in the barn, of all places
in the world!
“A—a—a—hem !” stammered Mrs.
Adams inquiringly.
“Amen!” This was spoken aloud
and hurriedly, and Prudence leaped
to her feet. Her fair hair clung about
her face in damp, babyish tendrils, and
her face was flushed and dusty, but
alight with friendly interest. She ran
forward eagerly, thrusting forth a slim
and grimy hand.
“You are Mrs. Adams, aren't you? I
am Prudence Starr. It is so kind of
you to come the very first day,” she
cried. “It makes me love you right at
the start.”
“Ye—yes, I am Mrs. Adams.” Mrs.
Adams was embarrassed. She could
not banish from her mental vision that
kneeling figure by the nnilkeg. Inter
rogation was written all over her
ample face, and Prudence promptly
read it and hastened to reply.
"I do not generally say my prayers
ta the baru, Mrs. Ad-uua, I assure you.
But—well, when I found this grand,
old, rambling barn, I was so thankful
I couldn’t resist praying about it.”
“But a burn!” ejaculated the per
plexed “member.” “Do you call that
a blessing?”
"Yes, indeed I do,” declared Pru
dence. Then she explained patiently:
"Ob. it is on the children's account,
you know. They have always longed
for a big, romantic barn to play in.
Thnt's why I couldn’t resist saying my
prayers—I was so happy I couldn’t
hold in.”
As they walked slowly toward the
house, Mrs. Adams looked at this par
sonage girl in frank curiosity and some
dismay, which she strongly endeavored
to conceal from the bright-eyed Pru
dence. The Ladies had said would
be so nice to have a grown girl in the
parsonage! Prudence was nineteen
from all account, but she looked like a
child, and—well, it was not exactly
grown-up to give thanks for a barn,
to say the very least! Yet this girl
had full charge of four younger chll
lron, and was further burdened with
the entire care of a minister-father!
'Veil, w ell! Mrs. Adams sighed a
'itfle.
"You are tired,” said Prudence sym
pathetically. "It’s so hot walking,
■sn’t it? Let’s sit on the porch until
you are nicely rested.”
"This is a fine chance for us to get
acquainted," said the good woman with
ra gerness.
Now, if the truth must be told, there
had been some ill-feeling in the Ladies’
Aid society concerning the reception of
Prudence. After the session of con
In the Barn of All Places.
ference, when IIpv. Mr. Starr was as
signed to Mount Mark, the Ladies of
the rhureh had felt great Interest in
ihe man and his family. They inquired
on every hand, and learned several in
teresting items. The mother had been
taken from the family live years be
fore, after a long illness, and Prudence,
ihe eldest daughter, laid taken charge
of the household. There were five chil
dren. So much was known, and being
women, they looked forward with
eager curiosity to the coming of Pru
dence, the young mistress of the par
sonage.
Mr. Starr had arrived at Mount Mark
a week ahead of his family. Prudence
and the other children had spent the
week visiting at the home- of their
aunt, and Prudence had come on a day
In advance of the others to “wind ev
erything up,” as she had expressed it.
But to return to the Ladies—the par
sonage girls always capitalized the La
dies of their father’s church—"One of
us should go and help the dear child.” j
said Mrs. Scott, the president of the
Aids, when they assembled for their
business meeting, “help her, and wel
come her, and advise her.” v
“I was thinking of going over,” said
one, and another, and several others.
“Oli. that will not do at all,” said the
president. “I think in a ease like this
the president herself should represent
the society. Therefore, I will under
take this duty for you.”
But tills called forth a storm of pro
test and it became so clamorous that It
was unofficially decided to draw cuts!
Which was done, and iu consequence
of that drawing of cuts, Mrs. Adams
now sat on the front porch of the old
gray parsonage, cheered by the knowl
edge that every other Lady of the Aid
was envying her!
“Now, just be real sociable and tell
me all about yourself, and the others,
too,” urged Mrs. Adams. “I want to
know all about every one of you. Tell
me everything.”
“There Isn’t much to tell,” said Pru
dence, smiling. “There ore five of us;
I am the oldest—I am nineteen. Then
comes Fairy, then the twins, and then
the baby.”
“Are the twins boys, or a boy and n ,
girl 7”
“Neither," said Prudence, “they are
both girls.”
“More girls!” gasped Mrs. Adams.
“And the baby?”
“She is a girl, too.” And Prudence
laughed. “In short, we are all girls i
except father. lie couldn’t be, of
course—or I suppose ho would, for our
family does seem to run to girls,”
“Prudence is a very nice name for
a minister's daughter,” said Mrs. Ad
ams suggestively.
“Yes—for some ministers' dough- i
tors," assented Prudence, "liut i- sad
ly unsuitable for me.”
Mrs. Adams looked critically at this
young daughter of the parsonage.
Then her eyes wandered down to hoc
clothes, and lingered, in silent ques
‘tloning, on Prudence's dress. It was
n very peculiar color. In fact, it was
no color at all—no named color. Pru
dence’s eyes had followed Mrs. Ad
ams’ glance, and she spoke frankly.
“I suppose you’re wondering if this
dress is any color! Well. I think it
really is, hut it isn’t any of the regu
lar shades. It is my own invention,
but I’ve never named it. Fairy grew
up and out and around, and one day
when 1 was so nearly out of clothes I
hardly felt I could attend church any
more, she suggested that I cut an old
one of hers down for me! At tirst 1
laughed, and then I was insulted. Fairy
is three years younger than I, and
before then she had got my handed
downs. But now t lie tables were
turned. From that time on Fairy’s"
clothes were cut down for me. I still
feel bitter about it. Fairy is dark, and
dark blues are becoming to her. She
handed down this dress—it was dark
blue then. But I was not wanting a
dark blue, and I thought it would be
less recognizable if I gave It a con
trasting color. I chose lavender. I
dyed it four times, and this was the re
sult.”
"Do the twins dress alike?” inquired
Mrs. Adams, when she could control
her voice.
“Yes — unfortunately for Connie.
They do it on purpose to escape the
honded-downs! They won’t even have
hair ribbons different. And the result
Is that poor Connie never gets one
new thing except shoes. She says she
cannot help thanking the Lord iti her
prayers that all of us outwear our
shoes before we cun outgrow Jhein.—
Connie is only nine. Fairy is sixteen,
and (lie twins are thirteen. They are
a very clever lot of girls."
“And what are you going to do?” in
quired Mrs. Adams, looking with real
affection at the bright, sweet face.
“You ought to go to school. You're
lust n girl yourself.”
I don t want to go to school,
laughed Prudence. “Not nny more. I
like It, just taking care of father and
the girls—with Fairy to keep me bal
anced ! I read, hut I do not like to
study.—No, you’ll have to get along
ivith me just the way 1 am, Mrs. Ad
ams. It's all I can do to keep things
?oing now, without spending half the
time dreaming of big things to do in
he future.”
“Don’t you have dreams?” gasped
Mrs. Adams. “Don't you have dreams
>f the future? Girl’s in books nowa
days dream—”
“Yes, I dream,” interrupted I’ru
lence, “I dream lots—hut it's mostly of
.vhat Fairy and others will do when I
?et them properly raised. You'll like
'.lie girls, Mrs. Adams, 1 know you will.
They really are a gifted little bunch—
>xcept me. I’m just common little Pru
lence of the Parsonage—but the oth
ers !” And Prudence flung out her
lands dramatically.
CHAPTER II.
The Rest of the Family.
It was Saturday morning when the
four young parsonage girls arrived in
Mount Murk. The elderly Misses Avery,
aext door, looked out of their windows,
Molding their appearance nu Main
street, with interest urtd concern. They
tvere Episcopalians themselves, and in
all their long lives they had never so
much us heard of a widower-rector
tvith five daughters and no housekeep
er. There was something blood-cur
dling in the bare idea.
The Misses Avery considered Pru
dence herself rather a sweet, silly
little thing.
“You have some real nice people In
the Methodist church,” Miss Dorn hud
told her. “1 dare say you will And a
few of them very likable.”
“Oh, I will like them all.” said Pru
dence quickly and seriously.
“Like them all,” echoed Miss Dora.
“Oh, impossible!”
“Not for us,” said Prudence. "We
nre used to it. you know. When we
dislike people at first sight, we visit
\m
“Quick! They Are Coming!"
them, and talk to thorn, and invito
thorn to tho parsonage, and ontortaiti
them with our host linen and silver
ware, and keep on 'getting friendlier
and friendlier, and- first thine you
know, we like them fine!"
So the Misses Avon ennoliidod that
Prudenee was not entirely responsible.
And they wondered, with something
akin to an agony of fear, if the yoongor
girls “hutl it, too!” and when Miss
Alice cried excitedly, ‘'Quick ! Quirk I
/
amazed, and quite proud. Connie was
j an honor to the parsonage—but they
i were concerned lest they themselves
should not do quite so well when their
days came.
But in less than a moment the min
ister-father began his prayer. When
lie said "Amen," Prudence was on her
et and half-way upstairs before the
others were fairly risen. Fairy stood
gazing intently out of the window for
a moment, and then went out to the
bam to see if the horse was through
eating. Mr. Starr walked gravely and
soberly out the front door, and around
the house, lie ran into Fairy coming
out the kitchen door, and they glanced
quickly at each other.
| “Hurry, papa,” she whispered; “you
can’t hold in much longer! Neither
cun I!”
And together, choking with laugh
ter, they hurried in*o the barn and
gave full vent to their feelings.
So it was that the twins and Connie
were alone for a while.
“You did tt pretty good job, Connie,”
said Carol approvingly.
“Yes, I think I did myself,” was the
complacent answer. “But I Intended
to put in, ‘Keep us as the apple of thy
eye, hold us In the hollow of thy hand,’
and I lorgot It until I had said ‘Amen.’
I had a notion to put in a postscript,
but I believe that Isn’t done.”
“Never mind,” said Carol, “I’ll use
that in mine, tomorrow.”
It cannot be said that this form of
family worship was a great success.
The twins were invariably stereotyped,
cut and dried. They thanked the Lord
for the beautiful morning, for kind
friends, for health, and family, and par
sonage. Connie always prayed in sen
tences extracted from the prayers of
others she had often heard, and every
time with nearly disastrous effect.
But later on the morning worship
went better. The prayers of the chil
dren changed—became more personal,
less flowery. They remembered that
when they knelt they were at the
feet of God, und speaking direct to
him.
1 he family had been In the new par
sonage only three weeks, when n vis
iting minister called on them. It was
about ten minutes before the lunch
; eon hour at the time of his arrival.
Mr. Starr was in the country, visiting,
: so the girls received him alone. It
I was an unfortunate day for the Starrs.
Fairy lmd been ut college all morning.
Hid Prudence had been rummaging in
| the attic, getting it ready for a rainy
I day and winter playroom for the
vounger girls. She was dusty and
, tired.
The luncheon hour arrived, and the
girls came in from school, eager to be
I up and away again. Still the grave
voung minister sat discoursing upon
serious topics with the fidgety Pro
lenee—und in spite of dust und per
spiration, she was good to look upon.
Rev. Mr. Morgan realized that, and
could not tear himself away. Finolly
Prudence sighed.
“Do you like sweet corn, Mr. Mor
gan?”
Tills was entirely out of the line of
their conversation, and for a moment
lie faltered. “Sweet corn?” he repeated.
“Yes. roasting ears, you know—
cooked on the cob.”
Then he smiled. “Oh, yes, indeed.
Very much,” he said.
“Well,” she begun her explanation
rather drearily, “I was busy this morn
ing and did not prepare much lunch
eon. We are very fond of sweet corn,
and I cooked an enormous panful. Ilut
that’s all wc have for luncheon—sweet
corn and htitter. We haven’t even
bread, because I am going to hake this
afternoon, and we never eat it with
sweet corn, anyhow. Now, if you care
to eat sweet corn find butter, and
canned peaches, we’d Just love to have
you stay for luncheon with us.”
ltev. Mr. Morgan was charmed, and
said so. So Prudence rushed to the
kitchen, opened the peaches in a hurry,
and fished out a clean napkin for their
guest. Then they gathered about the
tahle, five girls and the visiting min
ister. It was really a curious sight,
that tahle. In the center stood a tali
vase of goldenrod. On either side of
(lie vase was a great platter-piled high
with sweet corn, on the cob! Around
the tahle were six plates, with the nec
essary silverware, and a glass of wa
ter for each. There was also a small
dish of peaches at each place, and an
i individual plate of butter. That was
all—except the napkins. Hut Prudence
made no apologies. She was a daugh
ter of the parsonage ! She showed Rev.
Mr. Morgan to his place as graciously
and sweetly as though she were usher
ing him in to a twenty-seven-course
banquet.
“Will you return thanks, Mr. Mor
gan?" she said.
And the girls bowed their heads.
Rev. Mr. Morgan cleared his throat,
and began : “Our Father we thank thee
for tiiis table."
There was more of the blessing, but
the parsonage girls heard not one ad
ditional phrase—except Connie, who
followed him conscientiously through
every word. Carol burst into merry
laughter, close upon his reverent
“Amen"—and after one awful glare
nt her sister, Prudence Joints! in, and
soon it was a rollicking group around
the parsonage table. Mr. Morgan him
self smiled uncertainly. He was puz
zled. More, he was emhnrrassed. But
as soon as Carol could get her breath,
she gasped out au explanation.
“You were just—right, Mr. Morgan—
to give thanks—for the table! There’s
nothing—-on it—to be thankful for!"
Ami the whole family went off once I
more into peals of laughter.
Mr. Morgan hud very little appetite j
(hat day. He did not seem to he so
fond of sweet corn as he had assured
Prudence, lie talked very little, too. i
Ami as soon as possible lie t<a>k his i
iiui and walked hurriedly away, lie
They nro enming!’’ they trooped to
Miss Alloy’s window with a speed that
would have done credit to the parson
Hge girls themselves.
First came the minister, whoqj they
knew very well by this time, and con*
sidered quite respectable. He’ war
lively, as was to be expected of a
Methodist minister, and told Jokes,
and laughed at them! Now, a comical
rector—oh, a very different matter—
ll wasn't done, that’s all 1 At any rate,
here cuine the Methodist minister,
laughing, and on one side of him
tripped a small, earnest-looking maid
en, clasping his hand, and gazing alter
nately up into his face und down at
the stylish cement sidewalk beneath
her feet. On the other side was Fairy.
The Misses Avery knew (lie girls by
name already—having talked much
with Prudence.
“Such a Fairy!” gasped Miss >tilu
cent, and the others echoed the gasp
hut wordlessly.
For Fairy was very nearly as tall
*s her father, built upon generous
lines, rather commanding in appear
ance, a little splendid-looking. Even
from their windows they could discern
something distinctly Junolikc In this
sixteen-year-old girl, with the easy,
?!astic stride that mutched her fa
ther’s, and tile graceful head, well car
ried. A young goddess—named Fairy !
Behind them, laughing and ehatter
ng, like three children, as they were—
mine the twins with Prudence, each
with an arm around her waist. And
I’rudence was a very little taller than
they. When they reached the fence
:hat bordered the parsonage, the scene
’or a moment resembled a miniature
•lot. The smaller girls Jumped and
?xclaimed, and clasped their hands.
Fairy leaned over the fence, and
dared Intently at this, their pursonage
tome. Then the serious little girl
icruinbled under the fence, followed
tlosely by the lithe-limbed twins. \
muse, a very short one—and theu Prn
lence, too, was wriggling beneath the
'euce.
"Hold the wire up for me, papa!”
rrled Fairy. “I’m too fat.” And a seo
)nd luter she was running grueefully
icross the lawn toward the parsonage.
The Methodist minister laughed boy
shly, and placing his bands on llio
'ence post, lie vaulted lightly over,
md reached the house with his daugh
ters. Then the Misses Avery, sohotU
eachera and elderly, looked at one an
itlier. • v
"Did you ever?” gasped the oldest
Hiss Avery, and the others slowly
ihook their heads.
Now, think ! Did you ever see n rec
| nr jumping a three-wire fence, and
•unulng full speed ueross his front
ard in pursuit of u flying family? It
; nay possibly have occurred—we have
■ever seen it. Neither had the three
dlsses Avery. Nor did they ever ex
met to. And if they had seen It, it
| s quite likely they would have joined
he backsliders at that Instant.
But without wasting much time on
his gruesome thought, they hurried
o a window commanding the best view
>f the parsonage, and raised It. Then
hey clustered behind the curtains, and
vatchcd and listened. There was
Jlenty to ht-ur! From the pursouage
windows came the sound of scamper*
ng feet and hanging doors. Once there
vns the unmistakable clatter of a chair
>verturncd. With It. all there was a
•onstant chorus of “Oh, look!” “Oh!
dh !” “Oh, how sweet!" “Oh, papa !’’
‘Oh, Prudence!” “Look, Larklc, look
it this!"
Then the eldest Miss Avery closed
he window overlooking the pursouage
ind confronted her sisters.
“We must Just make the best of It,”
ihe suld quietly.
But next door the gray old parson
igc was full to overflowing with sntls
'action and happiness and love. Kvery
iue has experienced the ecstatic, creepy
lensutlon of sleeping in a brand-new
tome. The pursouage girls reveled in
lie memory of that ttrst night for many
lays. “It may he haunted for all we
inmv,” cried Carol deliciously, “.lust,
:hlnk, Connie, there may bo seven
(hosts camped on the head of your hod,:
waiting—”
"Carol!”
When the family gathered for wor
ship on that first Sabbath morning,
Mr. Starr said, as he turned the leaves
if his well-worn Bible, “I think it
.vould be well for you to help with tine
norning worship now. When I finish,
■ending the chapter, Connie, you will;
nuke the first prayer. Just pray for
ivhatever you wish ns you do at night!
tor yourself. I will follow you.”
Connie's eyes were wide with respon-i
•iibility during the reading of the chap-!
ter, but when she begun to speak hen
voice did not falter. Connie had nine;
years of good Methodist experience
back of her!
“Our Father, who art In heaven, we
bow ourselves before thy footstool In.
humility and reverence. Thou art our
ilod, our Creator, our Savior. Bless us
this day, and cause thy face to shine*
upon us. Blot nut our transgressions,
pardon our tres|*asses. Wash us, tlrat
we may lie whiter than snow. Hide
not thy fare from the eyes of thy
children, turn not upon us in wrath.
I’ity us. Lord, as we kneel here prox-i
tfate before thy majesty au<l glory.
Let the words of our months and the
meditations of our hearts he accept
able in thy sight, O Lord, our streugth
Hud our Redeemer. And finally save
us, an unbroken family around thy
throne In heaven, for Jesus’ sake.
Amen.”
_—_;-*_
(Continued Next Week.)
P'
3E
assn
DR. R. A. BARROW \
DENTIST
Postoffice Building
HUTTIG, ARK.