Part 8 (2/2)

”Timothy Toplady was puttin' out his middle finger stiff here an' there on the plaster.

”'It's dry as a bone,' he says, 'but what I say is this, le's us leave a fire burn here all night, so's to be sure. I'd hate like death to hev the whole congregation catchin' cold an' takin' Hiram Gekerjeck's medicine.'

”I rec'lect Eppleby Holcomb looked up sort o' dreamy--Eppleby always goes round like he'd swallowed his last night's sleep.

”'The house o' G.o.d,' he says over; 'ain't that curious? Nothin' about it to indicate it's the house o' G.o.d but the shape--no more'n's if 'twas a buildin' where the Holy Spirit never come near. An' yet right here in this place we'll mebbe feel the big wind an' speak with Pentecostal tongues.'

”''T seems like,' says Postmaster Sykes, thoughtful, ''t seems like we'd ought to hev a little meetin' o' thanks here o' Sat'day night--little informal praise meetin' or somethin.'

”Timothy shakes his head decided.

”'Silas Sykes, what you talkin'?' he says. 'Why, the church ain't dedicated yet. A house o' G.o.d,' s'e, 'can't be used for no purpose whatsoever without it's been dedicated.'

”'So it can't--so it can't,' says the postmaster, apologetic, knowin' he was in politics an' that the brethren was watchin' him, cat to mouse, for slips.

”'I s'pose that's so,' says Eppleby, doubtful. But he's one o' them that sort o' ducks under situations to see if they're alike on both sides, an' if they ain't, he up an' questions 'em. Timothy, though, he was differ'nt. Timothy was always goin' on about const.i.tuted authority, an'

to him the thing was the thing, even if it was another thing.

”'That's right,' he insists, his lips disappearin' with certainty. 'I s'pose we hadn't reely ought even to come in here an' stan' 'round, like we are.'

”He looks sidlin' over towards me, warmin' my hands rill secular by the church stove. An' I felt like I'd been spoke up for when somebody says from the door:--

”'You better just bar out the carpenters o' this world, friends, an'

done with it!'

”It was Abel Halsey, standin' in the entry, lookin' as handsome as the law allows. An' I see he happened to be there because the Through was about due,--that's the one that don't stop here,--an' you can always get a good view of it from this slope. You know Abel never misses watchin' a fast train go 'long, if he can help himself.

”'What's the i-dea?' Abel says. 'How can you pray at all in closets an'

places that ain't been dedicated? I shouldn't think they'd be holy enough, 's'e.'

”'That,' says the postmaster, sure o' support, 'ain't the question.'

”'I thought it couldn't be,' says Abel, amiable. 'Well, what is the question? Whether prayer is prayer, no matter where you're prayin'?'

”'Oh, no,' says Eppleby Holcomb, soothin', 'it ain't that.'

”'I thought it couldn't be that,' says Abel. 'Is it whether the Lord is in dedicated spots an' nowheres else?'

”'Abel Halsey,' Timothy tarts up, 'you needn't to be sacrilegious.'

”'But,' says Abel, 'the question is, whether _you_'re sacrilegious to deny a prayer-meetin' or any other good use to the church or to any other place, dedicated or not. Well, Timothy, I think you are.'

”Timothy clears his throat an' dabs at the palm of his hand with his other front finger. But before he could lay down eternal law, we sort o'

heard, almost before we knew we heard, folks hurryin' past out here on the frozen ground. An' they was shoutin', like questions, an' a-shoutin'

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