"Why," I said, "that is the very man I was talking to you about, who was so wroth with the sermon."
"Oh, no! you are mistaken; he is a very pious young man—opens school with prayer, and attends all our meetings; and I know it is not put on to please the trustees, for they are not that kind of men." But it was the same man, minus the devil, "for behold he prayeth."
At another place I preached in a little log schoolhouse. Close to my side sat a man who would have made a character for Dickens. He had large, black, earnest eyes, face very pale, was deformed, and, with a little tin ear-trumpet at his ear, he listened intently. I was invited by his mother to dine with them. I found, living in a little house roofed with bark, the mother and two sons. One of the boys was superintendent of the Sunday-school. I was surprised at the first question put by my man with the ear-trumpet,—
"Elder, what do you think of that sermon of ——'s in Chicago? I have always been bothered with doubts, and that unsettled me worse than ever."
Who would have thought to hear, away up in the woods, in such a house, from such a man, such a question? I tried to take him away from —— to Christ. After dinner he opened a door and said, "Look here."
There, in a little workshop, was a diminutive steam-engine, of nearly one-horse power, made entirely by himself; the spindles, shafts, steam-box, and everything finished beautifully. The shafts and rods were made with much pains from large three-cornered files. He was turning cant-hook and peevy handles for a living, and to pay off the debt on their little farm. The brother had a desk and cabinet of his own make, which opened and shut automatically. I was delighted. They were hungry for books and preaching. Are not such people worth saving?
These conditions existed over twelve years ago, but they are as true to-day in all parts of the newer frontiers. Meanwhile some of the above churches have become self-supporting, and are supporting a minister in foreign lands.