He said they had to give the church up;
they couldn't make it pay. All the rich people had moved away. He shook
his head sadly and told how he and his wife were married there. He
hobbled over and showed them how to get in a side door.
The yellow afternoon sun was sifting through windows of cheap stained
glass, and fell in mellow quiet upon the faded cushions and musty
ingrain carpet. The place had that deserted look of having been
abandoned, yet Courtland, as he stood in the shadow under the old
balcony, seemed to see the Presence of the eternal God standing up there
behind the pulpit, seemed to feel the hallowed memories of long ago,
and scent the lingering incense of all the prayers that had gone up from
all the souls who had worshiped there in the years that were past.
"They think an iron-foundry's going to buy it, or else some one may make
a munition-factory out of it," the old man contributed. "This war's
bringing a big change over things."
"Their plowshares into swords, their pruning-hooks into spears," chanted
an unseen voice, sadly, behind Courtland. His face set sternly. He
turned to Pat:
"I can't let that happen, old man!" he said. "I'm going to buy it if I
can. Come, we'll go and look it up!"
Pat looked at his companion with awe. He had always known he was rich,
but--to purchase a church as if it were a jack-knife! That sure was
going some!
Courtland did not return to the seminary until Tuesday morning.
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