A Woman Rice Planter

by Elizabeth W. Allston Pringle

I had been invited to dine by Mr. F. and M. had a delicious dinner. Then I took them with me out to St. Peter's-in-the-Woods. There was a very small and pathetic looking congregation. The notice had been short. Mr. S., who had promised to give it, had not been very successful. These people do not go to any post-office or have any mail, so any notice to reach them has to be sent by hand to a few in time to have the word passed round.

When the dean drove up with C. I saw him look around with wonder, first at the very forlorn looking congregation talking together in groups, and then at the very plain little board building which is the church, standing in a group of trees on the edge of a swamp. I realized at once that the eloquent divine had never come upon just such a church and just such a congregation and that for the moment he was taken aback.

After a while the service began. The dean with his fine voice and in his handsome vestments seemed quite too big and imposing for the little chancel with its bare pine table and reading stand. The little baby organ which was given to the chapel years ago has long been dumb, so I had to raise the hymns. The dean helped much with the singing and read beautifully.

When the time came for the sermon he read the miracle of the loaves and fishes and then in a low, quiet voice talked. What he said was very beautiful and very simple. With that hungry multitude and nothing but one boy's individual store, our blessed Saviour might have made a great and wonderful spectacle and by His word created thousands of loaves and thousands of fishes and caused excitement and amazement; but He simply asked the question, "How many loaves have ye?" told His disciples to make the multitude sit down and to divide out what they had, and lo! they had enough and to spare.

Then he pointed the lesson to us. Do not wait for great things, do not long for great powers, for great opportunities; use the little you have in faith and God will make it cover the need; use your little strength; use your little talent; use your little store of whatever kind, and it will suffice. I cannot give any idea of the effect, but I must write down what I can so as not to forget it myself.

When I went out of church poor Betty C., whom I have known from her girlhood and who has always looked old and weary, her capacities always having been below her needs, said in her very slow, drawling voice: "Miss Patience, is this here preacher comin' here ag'in?"

"Yes, Betty," I answered. "The dean says that whenever he can spare an afternoon from his church in Gregory he will come."

"Well, Miss Patience, I'm mighty glad to hear it. Seems like I'd walk any distance to listen to him."

"Well, Betty, you tell him that; it will please him."

Whether Betty ever made up her mind to such an effort as to tell the dean I never knew. She is a woman of 46, tall, thin, bent, yellow, the mother of seven children and one grandchild. Her husband is the owner of much land and quite a stock of cattle, and plants a good farm. Her life has been one long effort to keep up with her duties, for she has faithfully tried in a feeble, helpless way to do her duty. That the sermon should have reached her heart and helped her was a wonderful tribute.