"I think when I read that sweet story of old,When Jesus was here among men How He called little children as lambs to His fold,I should like to have been with Him then."Lucy would be rocking her baby and singing,"Hush,my dear,lie still and slumber."Candace's favourite she made up about her man who had been killed in the war,when they had been married only six weeks,which hadn't given her time to grow tired of him if he hadn't been "all her fancy painted."She arranged the words like "Ben Battle was a soldier bold,"and she sang them to suit herself,and cried every single minute:
"They wrapped him in his uniform,They laid him in the tomb,My aching heart I thought 'twould break,But such was my sad doom."Candace just loved that song.She sang it all the time.Leon said our pie always tasted salty from her tears,and he'd take a bite and smile at her sweetly and say:"How UNIFORM you get your pie,Candace!"May's favourite was "Joy Bells."Father would be whispering over to himself the speech he was preparing to make at the next prayer-meeting.We never could learn his speeches,because he read and studied so much it kept his head so full,he made a new one every time.You could hear Laddie's deep bass booming the "Bedouin Love Song"for a mile;this minute it came rolling across the corn:
"Open the door of thy heart,And open thy chamber door,And my kisses shall teach thy lips The love that shall fade no more Till the sun grows cold,And the Stars are old,And the leaves of the Judgment Book unfold!"I don't know how the Princess stood it.If he had been singing that song where I could hear it and I had known it was about me,as she must have known he meant her,I couldn't have kept my arms from around his neck.Over in the barn Leon was singing:
"A life on the ocean wave,A home on the rolling deep,Where codfish waggle their tails 'Mid tadpoles two feet deep."The minute he finished,he would begin reciting "Marco Bozzaris,"and you could be sure that he would reach the last line only to commence on the speech of "Logan,Chief of the Mingoes,"or any one of the fifty others.He could make your hair stand a little straighter than any one else;the best teachers we ever had,or even Laddie,couldn't make you shivery and creepy as he could.
Because all of us kept going like that every day,people couldn't pass without hearing,so THAT was what Mr.Pryor meant.
I had a pulpit in the southeast corner of the orchard.I liked that place best of all because from it you could see two sides at once.The very first little,old log cabin that had been on our land,the one my father and mother moved into,had stood in that corner.It was all gone now;but a flowerbed of tiny,purple iris,not so tall as the grass,spread there,and some striped grass in the shadiest places,and among the flowers a lark brooded every spring.In the fence corner mother's big white turkey hen always nested.To protect her from rain and too hot sun,father had slipped some boards between the rails about three feet from the ground.After the turkey left,that was my pulpit.
I stood there and used the top of the fence for my railing.
The little flags and all the orchard and birds were behind me;on one hand was the broad,grassy meadow with the creek running so swiftly,I could hear it,and the breath of the cowslips came up the hill.Straight in front was the lane running down from the barn,crossing the creek and spreading into the woods pasture,where the water ran wider and yet swifter,big forest trees grew,and bushes of berries,pawpaws,willow,everything ever found in an Indiana thicket;grass under foot,and many wild flowers and ferns wherever the cattle and horses didn't trample them,and bigger,wilder birds,many having names I didn't know.On the left,across the lane,was a large cornfield,with trees here and there,and down the valley I could see the Big Creek coming from the west,the Big Hill with the church on top,and always the white gravestones around it.Always too there was the sky overhead,often with clouds banked until you felt if you only could reach them,you could climb straight to the gates that father was so fond of singing about sweeping through.Mostly there was a big hawk or a turkey buzzard hanging among them,just to show us that we were not so much,and that we couldn't shoot them,unless they chose to come down and give us a chance.
I set Bobby and Hezekiah on the fence and stood between them.
"We will open service this morning by singing the thirty-fifth hymn,"I said."Sister Dover,will you pitch the tune?"Then I made my voice high and squeally like hers and sang:
"Come ye that love the Lord,And let your joys be known,Join in a song of sweet accord,And thus surround the throne."I sang all of it and then said:"Brother Hastings,will you lead us in prayer?"Then I knelt down,and prayed Brother Hastings'prayer.I could have repeated any one of a dozen of the prayers the men of our church prayed,but I liked Brother Hastings'best,because it had the biggest words in it.I loved words that filled your mouth,and sounded as if you were used to books.It began sort of sing-songy and measured in stops,like a poetry piece:
"Our Heavenly Father:We come before Thee this morning,Humble worms of the dust,imploring thy blessing.
