1478 
Tht RURAL NEW-YORKER 
December 24, 1921 
HOPE FARM NOTES 
i - - - - — - 
A Christmas Service 
There are certain poeuis that appeal to 
mo so forcibly that 1 tind it ncessary to 
read them over and over. For example, 
Whittier's "Snow Bound”—reading that 
seems an established part of a Winter’s 
day. There are several poems which 
should be read as a part of the worship 
which floods every human heart at Christ¬ 
mas. Perhaps you will be amused when 
I tell you that my favorite among Christ¬ 
mas poems is Kipling’s "Eddi’s Service.” 
It is said to record a Christmas incident 
of the year (587. What have we to do 
with things that occurred 1,234 years ago? 
Why not be a little more up to date? 
What do you mean by “up to date”? Hu¬ 
man nature and the fundamental laws of 
life have always been right on the calen¬ 
dar before us. What Eddi did 1,234 years 
ago may still be accepted as model be¬ 
havior for any of us. 1 presume you have 
all read the poem, but Christmas is a sea¬ 
son of privilege, and you will pardon me 
for repeating it: 
Eddi. priest of St. Wilfrid, 
In his chapel at Manhood End, 
Ordered a midnight service 
For such as cared to attend. 
But the Saxons were keeping Christmas, 
And the night was stormy as well, 
Nobody came to service. 
Though Eddi rang the bell. 
"Wicked weather for walking.” 
Said Eddi of Manhood’s End. 
“But I must go on with the service 
For such as care to attend.” 
The altar lamps were lighted, 
An old marsh-donkey came 
Bold as a guest invited. 
And stared at the guttering flame. 
The storm beat in at the windows, 
The water splashed on the floor, 
And a wet, yoke-weary bullock 
Pushed in through the open door. 
“How do I knew what is greatest? 
How do I know what is least? 
That is my Father’s business,” 
Said Eddi. Wilfrid’s priest. 
“But three are gathered together, 
Listen to me and attend, 
I bring good news, my brethren,” 
Said Eddi of Manhood's End. 
Then he told the ox of a Manger 
And a stall in Bethlehem, 
And he spoke to the ass of a Bider 
That rode to Jerusalem. 
They steamed and dripped in the chancel, 
They listened and never stirred. 
While, just as though they were Bishops, 
Eddi preached them the word, 
Till the gale blew off the marshes. 
And the windows showed the day, 
And the ox and the ass together 
Wheeled and clattered away. 
And when the Saxons mocked him, 
Said Eddi of Manhood’s End, 
“I djjre not shut his chapel 
On such as care to attend.” 
***** 
I like that, because I believe in Eddi’s 
spirit and. because I have seen numberless 
instances where plain men and women per¬ 
formed much the same service and went 
through their form of worship at Christ¬ 
mas. The particular thing I have in 
mind occurred nearly 40 years ago in a 
lumber camp far up in file snows. Thei'e 
were something like 00 men in our camp. 
There were all sorts. Some were rough, 
desperate characters; some were wild 
young fellows—good at heart, hut badly 
trained, while others were small farmers 
•who had left their families for the sea¬ 
son to take a Winter job which would 
help pay the mortgage. Scattered around 
us in the woods were little houses or 
small hamlets, where squatters lived on 
their little farms. There was a small log 
sehoolhouse at the corner, where a young 
girl taught a handful <>f little children. 
Two nights before Christmas Ben Stone, 
the teamster, came in with a great an¬ 
nouncement : 
“Boys, there’s a Bibleback come to hold 
a meeting at the sehoolhouse Christmas 
Eve. T.e's run him out!” 
A “Bibleback,” it may be said, is a 
home missionary who. during the Winter, 
goes about among the lonely places hold¬ 
ing religious meetings, marrying, conduct¬ 
ing funerals, or whatever service is needed. 
I never could learn exactly why the 
rougher element in that lumber camp 
held such a deep-rooted prejudice against 
those Biblebacks. In our own camp there 
were men who would gladly attend such 
a meeting at Christmas, but they were 
overawed by the rougher element. It was 
proposed to send “Crazy Jane” “Bouncing 
Bet.” and several other women of rather 
tarnished character to the meeting, while 
the crowd stood outside to enjoy the fun. 
***** 
The cook wanted to give the boys a lit¬ 
tle surprise for their Chiistmas breakfast 
by providing milk tor the coffee. We usu¬ 
ally swallowed a decoction as black as 
your stove. Tt seemed as if Christmas 
called for a lighter color. I was taken 
into the secret, so after supper the 
“cookie” and I started through the woods 
to .Toff Benson’s to buy a gallon of milk. 
A “cookie.” as you may know, is the chore 
boy or assistant cook. ITis job is not con¬ 
sidered a dignified one. and he is usually 
a man or boy too small or too infirm to 
work in the woods. Andy was a big. raw- 
boned. undeveloped chap, who had distin¬ 
guished himself thus far only by his im¬ 
mense _ capacity for food. Jeff Benson 
lived in a little shack planted in a 
small clearing. As Andy and I entered 
the one room which answered for kitchen 
and living room, we found a white-haired 
old lady sitting by the stove, reading a 
small Bible. A drove of children tumbled 
about, and Jeff sat glowering in the cor¬ 
ner. He took the cover off the stove, and 
after spitting into it with such force as 
seriously to deaden the fire, he delivered 
his doleful Christmas message: 
“Darned if I know what to do with the 
oF woman. She's my first wife’s mother. 
Now my wife is dead, and I’ve got to 
have another woman right off. I’ve 
picked out one. but she won’t marry me 
till the old lady gits out. What be Tgoin’ 
to do? Looks to me like the poorhouse 
for the old lady, unless she can git a job.” 
The old lady lifted her eyes from her 
book and said gently : 
"If I could only get to my daughter in 
Jackson County, I could have a good 
home. You know, I gave you my money, 
Jefferson ; can't you let me have enough 
of it to go?” 
“You can’t prove I took your money. 
Where are the papers to show it? it 
would cost $15 to get you there. I can’t 
spend that much.” 
Then, to my surprise, Andy broke in : 
“Mum.” he said, “darned if you don’t 
look jest like my mother. I ain't got no 
money to give, but ain’t there something 
I can do?” 
The old lady looked at him wistfully 
for a moment, and then said, slowly: 
“Yes; I would like to go to that meet¬ 
ing tonight. Will you take me?” 
Now, Andy had planned to go with the 
crowd and enjoy seeing “Crazy Jane” and 
the others break up the meeting; but he 
was a man <if his word. He swallowed 
hard and pointed his thumb at me. “If 
he’ll go. I will !” Some of the finest 
things in history have been started by 
that form of conditional promise. 
Jeff Benson had a big sled, suitable for 
one small steer to haul. We wrapped the 
old lady in a horse blanket and put a fur 
coat over her feet. Then Andy and I 
got into the shafts and started on a jog 
trot for the sehoolhouse. Very likely this 
year many a woman will ride to Christ¬ 
mas worship through the snow behind 
prancing horses, or in some luxurious car. 
wrapped in costly furs, surrounded with 
all the elegance and comfort which love 
and wealth can provide. I wonder if 
they can ever have in their hearts any¬ 
thing of the faith and trust which filled 
the soiil of this lonely old lady as Andy 
and I jogged on along the road. The snow 
lay deep on the ground ; the road was like 
a deep, wide rut cut through the drifts. 
At one point a rabbit bounded across the 
road in front of us. Thpre was a flurry 
and whirl at one place where a deer evi¬ 
dently smashed off among the trees. The 
wind was blowing through the pines—a 
strange, weird music—and the light snow 
was driven into our faces with biting 
power as Andy and I pulled our burden 
on. 
The “Bibleback” was on hand at the 
sehoolhouse. The school trustee had 
started a fire in the stove, and the frost 
on the window panes had already begun 
to melt. There were six candles and two 
small kerosene lamps placed about the 
room. Around the sides blocks of wood 
had been placed, with rough boards put 
on them for seats. No dignified usher met 
you at the door and escorted you to a 
front pew*. You helped yourself to the 
seat that suited you or hung about the 
stove to thaw your fingers and toes. The 
preacher had brought a large piece of iron 
rod. bent in the form of a triangle, open 
at one corner. He hung this on a tree 
and pounded it with a hammer. The re¬ 
sult was a remarkable sound, which went 
rolling out through the pine trees, seem¬ 
ing to grow louder as it swept through 
their branches. It was the best imitation 
of a church bell that the community 
could provide. Perhaps a dozen people 
had gathered when the “Bibleback” asked 
for volunteers to form a choir. In a short 
time he had a quartette on the platform. 
He sang tenor, with the school trustee 
pouring or grunting out the bass, while 
between them stood the schoolteacher and 
the white-haired old lady. 
“Now,” said the preacher, “let us sing 
“Joy to the World.” 
And they did sing it. the rest of us 
humming and following with them as best 
we could : 
"Joy to the world! The Lord is come.” 
Let earth receive her King; 
Let every heart prepare Him room, 
And Heaven and Nature sing.” 
You may, for all I know, at this mo¬ 
ment be listening to this noble old hymn 
in some church or great cathedral where, 
amid a!l the splendor of modern worship, 
angel-voiced singers proclaim the glorious 
tidings. I wonder if you could have felt 
the great joy of that coming if you had 
been in that dimly lighted room iistening 
to that remarkable quartette? 
"Joy to llie irorld! The Lord is come!” 
Whenever I think of that service I re¬ 
member how one of our boys went to a 
little place in Florida to stay. When Sun¬ 
day came he went to church. It was a 
day of violent rain, and no one cared to 
come, except the minister, the sexton, and 
my boy. And the three of them stood up 
in different parts of the church, and sang 
"•Joy to the World.” M> - boy wrote that 
they made a “classy trio,” but it was 
really the finest thing lie ever did. 
***** 
When the song ended the preacher made 
bis prayer. He had hardly ended when 
there was a great, coarse laugh at the 
door, and “Crazy Jane” and her sisters 
in the conspiracy burst noisily in. I knew 
there was a crowd of men outside—there 
were grinning faces at each window. The 
women seated themselves in front, pre¬ 
pared to scoff and interrupt. And right 
there the white-haired old lady seemed to 
take the meeting out of the preacher’s 
The Young Naturalist and His Furred Friend 
bands. She stood up with a “Moody and 
Sankey” hymnbook in her hand and said 
very gently: 
"I am so glad you girls have come. 
We want more voices. If any of you can 
sing, won’t you please stand up here with 
us and help?” 
It may seem incredible, but after a 
moment’s hesitation “Crazy Jane” and 
"Bouncing Bet” obeyed the old lady’s 
pleading smile and stepped on the plat¬ 
form beside her. There they stood in 
their tawdry finery, but somehow the 
brazen insolence faded away from their 
flushed faces, and a sudden shame seemed 
to flood over them. And the old lady 
opened her book at that song or chant 
taken from Isaiah : 
"Come now. and Jet us reason together , 
snith the J^ord. Though your sins he 
as scarlet, they shall he as white as snow; 
though they he red like crimson, they shall 
he as wool.” 
As the song went on a strange thing 
happened. Dim and hesitating at first, 
and then clear and strong, two voices 
rang out gloriously with the rest: 
"Though they be red like crimson, 
They shall be as wool.” 
The voices rang out, as it seemed, like a 
triumph with: 
“He’ll forgive thv transgressions, 
And remember them no more.” 
The men on the outside, were grinning 
in anticipation of some “hot stuff” from 
"the girls"; but they were disappointed. 
I’he women sang on to the end. Then 
"Crazy Jane” took off her gaily trimmed 
hat. opened the door, and called: 
“Come on in, boys. This is on the level. 
There ain’t, nothin’ here to bite. Come 
in and make a crowd !” 
* * * * * 
and a little ashamed. To my surprise, 
Andy started up by the stove and shouted : 
"If any of you boys get gay in here, I’ll 
lick him right now, and don't you forget 
it!” 
It was such a surprising challenge that 
the men were shocked into silence, and 
no one seemed to notice the incongruity 
of starting a fight to preserve order at a 
Christmas service. They were all hardly 
settled before there was a jingle of sleigh 
bells outside. No, it was not Santa Claus, 
but the “big boss”—the president of the 
great lumber company come to spend 
< hristmas in camp. lie had his wife and 
two daughters, and two young men and, 
impelled by some odd curiosity, they all 
came stamping in, bringing their road 
lanterns with them. The little sehoolhouse 
was packed like a box of sardines, and the 
“Bibleback” stood up in one corner and 
told those people gently and simply the old 
story <>f Christmas and its meaning. lie 
told them that the only life worth living 
was one of service. Could they not find 
something this year, up here in the snow, 
that would make an acceptable offering to 
the Lord? 
Then they all sang “Joy to the world” 
once more. The wife of the big boss had 
lived in 'Washington. It was not unlikely 
that she might go back there as a Sena¬ 
tor’s wife, yet here she was holding the 
book with “Bouncing Bet.” both singing 
with all their power. 
I think this meeting would have drifted 
away without definite accomplishment, as 
most meetings do. had it not been for 
Andy. You know, of course, how there 
will be at some meetings a great explo¬ 
sion of energy which is simply wasted 
because there is no one at hand to harness 
it to some definite purpose. The spell of 
the meeting was falling away from these 
people when Andy pulled his awkward 
form up straight and began talking. 
_ ell. folks.” he said. “God knows I 
ain t no talker, and don’t know much, but 
here’s my idee.” 
Then he told them in his clumsy way 
about the white-haired old lady—how Jeff 
Benson was turning her out, and how she 
could get to her daughter in Jackson 
County if she only had the money. If 
I were to put it in print as he told it, 
you would laugh, but as Andy blundered 
oil in that dimly lighted room his homely 
face seemed to be alight. It was true 
eloquence. Then he said : 
‘ Now my idee is there ain’t no one here 
that can do the job alone, except, it be the 
boss; but if we all loosen up the price of 
a few drinks and chip it all in. we can 
do it. My idee is that every man put up 
the price of a day’s work and send the 
old lady to Jackson Countv. Now, bovs, 
am I right?” 
Then the big boss got on his feet: 
“A big idea, Andy. I didn’t think vou 
had it in you. If the boys will put. up a 
day’s work apiece, I'll double what they 
give!” 
And that is just what they did. The 
old lady sat there radiant with happiness, 
yet softly crying, while “Crazy Jane” 
gently wiped the tears away. We never 
took the old lady back to Jeff Benson’s. 
A\ e packed her on the sled, tied a long 
rope to it. and at least 25 men helped haul 
her to camp, where she stayed with the 
big boss. And his wife actually took off 
her fur cloak and put it over the old lady. 
The rich woman smiled as she threw an 
old blanket over her own shoulders. 
The day after Christmas the old lady 
drove off with f he big boss and his family 
on her way to Jackson County. It was a 
great service. 
No. there wasn’t any miracle about it. 
I fear that all of them, from Andy to 
“Crazy Jane.” went back to their old life; 
yet as long as they live I think there will 
be a little glow at the heart as they think 
of that service. h. w. c. 
