his
room for evening service, and their usually smoky chimneys lent a
depressing effect to all exhortation. "Mandy" Oaks presided at the organ
and turned gospel hymns into wheezy and rather long-drawn-out melodies.
Most of the audience tried to chase the tunes along and imagined they
were singing, which, perhaps, is all that is necessary. On the Sundays
between the minister's visits only evening services were held, and
every Thursday evening a prayer-meeting. It was on these latter
occasions that Deacon Oaks was in conspicuous evidence. The Widow Leach,
a poor unfortunate woman who had seen better days, and in whose poverty
stricken life religion was the only consolation, was also prominent; and
her testimony, unvarying in tenor as the tunes played by Mandy, helped
to fill out the service.

"It's lucky the widow's sure o' lots o' happiness in the next world,"
observed Uncle Terry once, "for she ain't gittin' much in this.

"I can't hear Oaks, though, 'thout thinkin' o' Deacon Rogers up in
Wolcott, who never mentioned the need o' rain till he'd got his hay in.
He was a sly fox, and allus thanked the Lord for sendin' rain nights an'
Sundays, so the poor hired men could rest.

"I used to have him held up as a shinin' example, but he opened my eyes
arter I began dickerin' by sellin' me a lot o' eggs that had been sot on
two weeks, an' the storeman I sold 'em to never trusted me agin. 'Twas a
case o' the ungodly sufferin' for the sins o' the righteous that time,
which may be a pervarsion o' Scriptur, but the truth, just the same.

"But I got a little comfort finally, for when the Deacon died, by some
inadvartance the choir sang, 'Praise God from whom all blessin's flow,'
an' I wa'n't the only one who felt that way, either."

In spite of Uncle Terry's mildly flavored shafts of sarcasm, he made no
enemies and his kind heart and sterling honesty were respected far and
near. He was considered a doubter and skeptic, and though seldom seen at
church, as he had originally contributed his share when that edifice was
built, his lack of piety was forgiven.

There is a sense of justice underlying all men's minds, and the natural
instinct is to judge others by what they are and how they live, rather
than by what they profess, and so it was in Uncle Terry's case. He lived
truthfully, obeyed his conscience, observed the Golden Rule, wronged no
one, and as with many others who do likewise, he had a right to feel
that in the final bal