My uncle took me aside, in the morning, and said:
“I’m coming out to hear you, Al. Do your best, lad. I’ll be with you. God knows I don’t deserve all this!”
It was a very simply arranged church; plain, white-washed walls, and a cheaply carpeted platform. While the first hymn was being sung, my Uncle Stanwood crept into a rear pew and kept his eyes down.
But while I preached, a half smile of pride stole into his face and to my excited imagination his head seemed to be nodding approval to all I said. The look in his eyes seemed to be saying, “Show them, Al!”
I whispered to the minister, “Let me pronounce the benediction and while we are singing the last hymn, get down the aisle and meet my uncle. He may get out before you. He’s timid.”
But Uncle Stanwood crept out before the benediction and I did not see him again until my arrival home for dinner.
On arriving home, I was startled by what Aunt Millie did. She came up to me, patted me lovingly on the head and said, “I’m glad you did so well, Al. Your uncle’s been telling me all about it. I’ll go and hear you tonight, too.”
Martin evidently was interested, for in that belligerent tone of his, though softened by a light laugh, he said:
“I suppose I’ll have to go, too, seeing I’m his relation!”
I left the house that evening somewhat early, because I had to meet some friends. Martin was blacking his shoes; Aunt Millie was troubling herself unduly over what she should wear: a superfluous question, as she had but one Sunday dress and hat.