124 
The  RURAL  NEW-YORKER 
January  27,  192:5 
Pastoral  Parson  and  His  Country  Folks 
By  Rev.  George  B.  Gilbert 
It  Was  Indigestion.— The  Parson 
heard  of  a  boy  the  other  day  that  was 
sent  to  the  station  to  get  the  minister 
who  was  coming  on  the  train.  The  boy 
had  never  seen  the  minister,  but  they  told 
him  that  probably  he  could  pick  him  out. 
lie  looked  at  the  many  men  coming  from 
the  train.  He  picked  out  his  man.  “Are 
you  the  minister,”  he  asked.  “No.  no,” 
came  the  reply.  “I  am  not.  It’s  indiges¬ 
tion  that  makes  me  look  that  way.”  But 
the  Parson  seldom  has  trouble  of  that 
kind,  and  these  long  mid-winter  trips  are 
great  bracers  for  the  appetite.  In  fact, 
the  Parson  looks  forward  to  these  long 
quiet  trips  over  the  foothills  on  the  Lone¬ 
ly  Hoad.  Not  only  is  Old  Jim  a  very  sure 
self-starter,  but  he  is  a  much  surer  self¬ 
stopper  down  a  hill  all  glare  ice  than  any 
car.  These  drive  calks  ai-e  great  things, 
and  the  Parson  carries  a  full  drive-calk 
outfit  with  him  all  the  time. 
The  Trip  Down. — An  old  liveryman 
once  told  the  Parson  that  when  you  are 
going  on  a  long  trip  give  the  horse  his 
own  head  and  own  gait  for  the  first  three 
miles,  then  push  him  along  as  fast  and  as 
far  as  you  mind  to — he’ll  stand  by  you 
all  day.  And  it’s  true.  So  the  Parson 
takes  some  reading  along  and  hangs  the 
reins  over  his  neck  and  under  one  arm 
as  though  he  was  cultivating,  till  he  gets 
just  about  three  miles  out — way  up  on 
tip  of  the  long  hill.  Then  he  puts  aside 
the  New  York  Churchman,  or  the  Nation, 
finite  height  of  all  joy — a  joy  that  makes 
your  very  heart  come  up  into  your  throat, 
the  joy  of  carrying  gifts  enshrined  and 
hallowed  with  sheer  affection  for  God’s 
children,  right  into  the  midst  of  those 
who  so  sorely  need  them. 
Christmas  in  Church. — We  always 
have  our  Christmas  now  on  a  Sunday, 
and  in  the  daytime,  down  at  the  old 
church.  We  used  to  have  it  in  the  even¬ 
ing.  but  the  people  are  scattered,  and 
with  little  children  and  the  cold  it  is  so 
much  better  here  to  have  it  in  the  day-, 
time.  The  Parson  went  down  the  night 
before  with  a  business  sleigh  packed  to 
the  limit.  It  was  a  real  load,  no  doubt 
of  that.  What  with  a  great  box  of  pres¬ 
ents  for  every  one  and  a  box  with  the 
candy  tied  up  in  Christmas  paper  nap¬ 
kins,'  with  string  left  long  enough  to  tie 
on  the  tree,  and  a  12-quart  can  of  fine 
beef  stew  (two  cans  of  tomato  in  it),  and 
six  loaves  of  bread,  an  ax  and  shovel,  and 
blankets  and  halter  and  l-o.bes  and  hot 
soapstone,  it  came  near  beating  Santa  at 
his  own  game. 
Getting  Ready— About  the  best  part 
of  the  day  was  getting  ready.  The  chil¬ 
dren  were  there  early,  and  we  got  in  the 
trees,  and  two  boys  went  for  more  cedars 
with  the  sleigh,  and  it  certainly  looked 
fine  in  church.  We  take  the  candy,  about 
a  cupful,  and  tie  it  up  in  a  paper  napkin, 
and  when  you  tie  it  on  the  tree,  just  take 
and  flatten  out  the  napkin  corners  and  it 
The  Parson’s  Home  in  Its  Winter  Dress 
or  that  perfectly  wonderful  little  paper 
Homelands,  or  The  Rural  New-Yorker, 
and  takes  out  the  whip  and  gathers  up 
the  reins  and  really  begins  to  travel. 
A  Fine  Dinner. — Had  you  seen  the 
Parson  turn  off  the  main  road  way  down 
at  the  top  of  a  long  and  lonely  hill,  you 
would  have  said  he  was  following  a  wood 
road,  and  it  does  look  it  for  a  fact.  But 
after  some  half  a  mile  we  came  to  two 
houses,  one  empty  and  the  other  occupied. 
The  woman  comes  to  the  door  and  greets 
the  Parson,  whose  coming  has  been  loudly 
acclaimed  by  the  dog.  Yes,  this  woman 
lives  here  entirely  alone.  She  keeps  five 
or  six  head  of  stock  and  some  hens.  There 
is  no  human  being  living  in  sight  or  hear¬ 
ing  of  the  place.  What  would  some  of 
our  city  cousins  think  of  this!  Jim  is 
hitched  and  blanketed,  and  the  Parson 
goes  inside.  He  must  stay  to  dinner.  Did 
you  ever  taste  of  a  calves’  head  soup?  If 
not.  then  you  don’t  know  what’s  good. 
The  Parson  did  enjoy  it.  This  woman 
cuts  all  her  own  wood,  and  there  was 
enough  about  the  stove  to  last  certainly 
a  week.  She  was  baptized  and  confirmed 
in  our  little  church  down  there  this  last 
Fall. 
Lonely  Road,  But  Not  Household. 
—It  was  on  this  lonely  road,  but  not  at  a 
lonely  household  that  the  Parson  pulled 
up  some  five  miles  further  on.  It  was 
getting  quite  dark  when  the  Parson 
reined  Old  Jim  into  the  dooryard.  The 
man  was  out  chopping  some  wood,  “mak¬ 
ing”  wood,  as  it  is  often  called  down  that 
way.  He  recognized  the  Parson,  for  some 
time  ago  this  family  lived  in  another  mis¬ 
sion  where  the  Parson  worked,  and  the 
recognition  spread  to  the  inside  of  the 
house.  Such  a  commotion,  such  excite¬ 
ment  !  There  were  eight  children  at 
home  when  the  Parson  walked  in.  Noth¬ 
ing  doing  but  the  Parson  must  stay  to 
supper.  Such  a  fine  tableful.  The  Par¬ 
son  was  right  at  home !  Ten  in  this 
house,  and  but  one  in  the  other.  One 
wonders  if  things  could  not  be  redistrib¬ 
uted  some  time.  With  what  joy  and  ex¬ 
citement  they  told  the  Parson  of  the  won¬ 
derful  things  that  had  come  in  a  big  box 
the  Saturday  before  Christmas,  with  5 
lbs.  of  Christmas  candy — good  things  that 
good  people  had  sent  the  Parson  for 
Christmas.  There  is  something  tragic 
about  a  visit  like  that.  Holy,  to  be  sure, 
unspeakable,  indescribable,  yet  tragic. 
Tragic  that  so  many  never  know  the  in¬ 
certainly  looks  like  a  flower  on  the  tree. 
We  had  the  thickest,  nicest  pine  tree  the 
Parson  ever  saw ;  it  was  beautiful.  It 
took  three  trees,  all  told,  to  hold  the 
things.  Then  when  all  was  ready,  and 
the  stew  was  warming,  and  the  coffee 
steeping,  and  the  two  roast  chickens 
browning  and  the  old  box  stove  a-roaring, 
we  began  our  Christmas  service  with  its 
celebration  of  the  Lord’s  Supper.  We 
had  a  talk  about  gifts.  People  give  gifts, 
all  manner  of  gifts,  all  kinds  of  gifts,  but 
once  in  a  while  we  see  a  person  and  we 
do  not  think  of  gifts,  but  we  think  of  the 
gift — the  person,  himself  or  herself — is 
the  gift.  Here  and  there  we  run  across 
persons  who  seem  to  have  so  renounced 
themselves  and  forgotten  themselves,  that 
we  look  upon  them  as  gifts — gifts  to  their 
family  or  gifts  to  their  neighborhood,  or 
gifts  to  their  church,  or  gifts  to  their 
Sunday  school,  or  gifts  to  their  children 
in  the  schoolroom.  How  many  mothers 
have  really  become  as  gifts — gifts  to  their 
family — their  children? 
The  Dinner. — And  then  after  the  ser¬ 
vice,  that  Christmas  dinner — the  neigh¬ 
borhood  sitting  down  together  at  a  Christ¬ 
mas  dinner.  What  do  you  think  of  that, 
my  reader?  Not  on  Christmas  Day;  that 
is  for  the  home,  but  on  the  Sunday  next 
after;  that  is  for  the  community.  The 
hot  beef  stew,  and  the  roast  Spring 
chicken,  and  dressing,  and  the  erabapple 
jelly,  and  the  cakes,  and  the  pumpkin  pie 
— nuff  said,  nuff  said.  Then  we  had  our 
business  meeting  for  the  year;  elected 
officers,  heard  reports;  made  our  plans 
and  appointed  committees  to  carry  them 
out.  Then  after  the  children  spoke  their 
pieces  —  their  Christmas  pieces  - —  and 
after  that  the  Christmas  trees,  and,  last 
of  all.  the  pictures  taken.  Old  Jim  and 
one  of  the  boys  took  home  a  load  of  chil¬ 
dren  from  over  the  hill— six  from  one 
family — and  then  as  the  Parson  headed 
into  the  woods  for  a  14-mile  trip  home, 
the  sun  was  just  setting  behind  a  clump 
of  cedars  on  the  hill — the  end  of  a  real 
day,  a  full  day,  a  church  family  day. 
Wasn’t  it  a  blessed  day! 
Another  Christmas. — And  last  night 
we  were  down  in  that  old  abandoned 
church  we  fixed  up  last  Spring.  It  was  a 
bitter  cold  night,  with  a  biting  east  wind 
— forerunner  of  a  storm.  Ir  seemed  best 
to  have  the  tree  in  the  evening  here,  and 
the  old  stereopticon  was  loaded  into  the 
(Continued  on  Page  121) 
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