“In the end of the Sabbath, as it began to dawn, toward the first day of the week came Mary Magdalene and the other Mary to see the sepulchre.
“And, behold, there was a great earthquake: for the angel of the Lord descended from heaven and came and rolled back the stone from the door and sat upon it.... And the angel answered and said unto the woman, Fear not ye: for I know that ye seek Jesus that was crucified. He is not here for He is risen.”
He shut off steam as he pitched down a steep grade, and then Jim heard him say:
“That’s the way she said it, an’ we don’t know nothin’, Jim, nothin’. But we do know that stranger things is happenin’ ever’ day than jes’ the spirit livin’ agin. What’s light? What’s heat? What’s love? What’s that wireless talkin’ through the air but things to tell us how little we know, how small our minds is an’ how easy it ’ud be to be true, an’ we not know how to explain it with our little standards.”
He threw a kiss at the vanishing hill of pines. “No, I’ll keep on sayin’ it as she sed it, anyway, true or not: ‘I am the resurrection an’ the life.’”
HO! EVERY ONE THAT THIRSTETH!
The corn crop up in the Bigbyville neighborhood is clean, the cotton shows not a spear of grass. The potato field looks as clean and green as a billiard cushion floor and the darkies are still, still hoeing. All this was caused by a sermon old Wash preached there on foot-washing day last month, a literal extract of which I got from the old man himself:
“Brudderin’ an’ Sisterin’—You’ll find my text in de six chapter of Noah’s pistols to de Gentiles. Ho! every one dat thirsteth! Ho!
“De commandments we get from de Bible am beyond de scrutiny of man, an’ we natchurly think dat when a man gets hot an’ thirsty de thing fur him to do is to hunt de spring branch an’ quench his burnin’ lips. But not so. Here it is sot down in black an’ white in de book ob books, dat when you git thirsty, jes’ keep on hoein’. Ho! every one dat thirsteth! Ho! And dat is right; de Bible is allers right. Hoein’ is good fur de limbs, good fur de wind, good fur de crap, an’ good fur de soul. De sun am hot now, but de wind’ll be cold agin. De rays pour down now, but de sleet’ll come bye an’ bye. Dese am de rays of drought an’ thirst, but ef you want to set back when de rains come, smoke yo’ pipe an’ sing dat song—
“Bile dat cabbage down