Western News And The Libby Times

Thursday, May 15, 1930

Joplin Westbury was as good as his word. He had the district superintendent on the long-distance telephone by nine o'clock the next morning, and upon statement of their needs, was gratified by a piece of rare good fortune. The superintendent had at his disposal a brilliant young minister, a graduate of Drew Theological seminary, who had just returned from a year's special study in England, and was even now awaiting the convening of the conference for his assignment. The practice in active ministry would be a very fine thing for him, and he could be secured at a nominal figure.

In the meantime, Mrs. Westbury had telephoned the members of the board, announcing a special meeting to be held that evening, which was a mere matter of routine to legalize the arrangement, for Joplin Westbury had already sent a telegram to Hiram Buckworth, stating the details of his proposition, and had received an acceptance that very afternoon. Hiram Buckworth promised to arrive in Red Thrush on the afternoon train, on Saturday, ready to officiate on the Sabbath, and requested them to arrange for his room and board in Red Thrush, with the parsonage family, if possible.

Joplin Westbury considered this a particularly lucky stroke, and reported his success to Eddy Jackson with great gusto. Eddy hastened to announce his progress to the girls at the parsonage.

"You see, by boarding this Buckworth chap, you can pay all of your expenses in the parsonage. Mr. Tolliver and Miriam are company at Pay Dirt, so that you can save the whole two months' salary to pay for his treatments in Chicago."

"I wish Helen were here," said Marjorie. "Why, I will have to sort of be the head of the house myself and I am not used to having ministers around—except father. But you are quite right. We must do what we can, and we shall take Mr. Buckworth gladly. What can we charge him?"

"We are to pay him fifteen dollars a week. I think ten of that could go for his room and board."

"That would leave him but five dollars a week for laundry, and collections, and—"

"We can do his laundry with ours," interrupted Ginger. "And I daren't say he doesn't tithe as father does; it isn't as fashionable as it used to be. And we can't run the house on less than ten a week."

"Well, ten a week then. And if he objects, we'll come down to eight. He can have father's room, with the books. Miss Jenkins, you'll have to tell him about the money, and the laundry, and everything. I simply couldn't do it."

On Friday afternoon, Miriam returned with her father just in time for supper, a supper that was a banquet, for many of the kindly members, knowing of the plan for his enforced vacation, had conspired to make his last dinner at home one to be remembered. There were baskets of fruit and flowers, fine candies, fragrant home-baked rolls and pastries, rich preserves and delicate jellies, pats of country butter and jars of cream, chickens all ready for broiling.

They were still at the table, merrily recounting the news of the week, the doings of the church, the letters from Helen, when Joplin Westbury came, or rather, was delivered in person, by Eddy Jackson. Joplin Westbury, clearing his throat in best treasurer-of-the-board manner, announced that on behalf of the church he came to present his beloved minister with a two months' vacation on full pay, in order to restore his strength for the great day of the formal dedication.

"Mr. Westbury, this—this is most awfully good of you and the board and the church," said Mr. Tolliver meekly. "It just happens—and this may surprise you—the doctors advised that I give up work and responsibility for a while, but I simply did not see how it could be done. I should not have asked it, I assure you. It is most generous, Joplin, most generous. Girls, I see the hand of the Lord in this."

"I see the hand of Eddy Jackson," thought Ginger Ella to herself, but not for the world would she have marred her father's pious gratitude with the voicing of her irreverent thought.

But Joplin Westbury, in spite of the good gift he had brought, seemed ill at ease and awkward, chafing under the united thanks of the innocent family, and hurriedly took himself off.

When he had gone, Eddy extended the invitation, for himself and his mother, for Mr. Tolliver and Miriam to come to Pay Dirt.

They spent the evening talking together quietly, every seemingly light word overlaying an undercurrent of deep and glad thanksgiving, and then Miriam led her father out to the waiting car, the other girls trooping noisily with them for a last good-by.

"Now you see, my dear little girls, and try to remember, that things do work together for good," he said, smiling.

"Yes," whispered Eddy Jackson to Ginger, "but just the same, I wish you'd scout around among the members, and see if there's something underhanded going on. I don't like the looks of old Jop. Ordinarily, he just loves to play Heaven, but tonight he was all fussed up. Between you and me, I think there's something rotten in Red Thrush."

(Continued next week.)