The Lutheran Pioneer St. Louis — 1928, Sheet 75

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THE LUTHERAN PIONEER.

asked her grandparents to permit her to go to the
new Sunday-school and church. After some hesita-
tion they decided to allow her to go, but said they
would accompany her and thus get an opportunity
to ask the teacher not to put such notions about sin
and Baptism into the head of their grandchild.

When they arrived at the little church, Sunday-
school was over, but the pastor was just reading his
text for the morning service. The text was: “The
Lord hath laid on Him the iniquity of us all.” ‘The
burden of the pastor’s discourse was sin and grace
as set forth in the suffering and death of Jesus, the
Son of God. During the sermon Eunice and her
grandparents listened with rapt attention and hung
on every word that fell from the lips of the pastor.
Never in all their lives had the two old people heard
such a message from the pulpit. Every word that
the pastor spoke was freighted with the authority
of divine truth and fell upon most willing and
astounded ears.

After the service, for some reason known only
to himself, Grandpa Dan failed to have his inter-
view with the teacher concerning the religious in-
struction of Eunice. Instead of waiting to speak
to the teacher or the pastor, he hurried his wife
and grandchild out of the building and bent his
footsteps homeward. On the way home the old man
was strangely silent, and his wife, too, was lost in
thought. He, however, was the first to break the
silence by saying, “Ol ’oman, did you ever hear
sich preachin’ in all your born days? That
preacher preaches like white folks.”

“Dan,” answered his wife, “hit sho’ was sweet.
Hit done my soul good, an’ I could-a sot there all
day an’ listened t? ?im.”

“You reckon th’ good Lord done sent somebody
in here t? open our eyes, Nancy?” queried the old
fellow, wiping, his forehead with a handkerchief
which his wife had made out of a flour sack.

“Cain’t never tell,” replied Grandma Nancy;
“all I knows is, hit sho’ was sweet.”

The next Sunday found the two old people and
Eunice back at the little church and listening atten-
tively to the Word of God being preached as it is
written on the sacred pages. The next Wednes-
day night, despite the fact that they had labored
all day in the fields, they were numbered among
those who had gathered to receive instruction in
the Christian doctrine as it is written in the sacred
‘Book and explained in the blessed Catechism. On
their way home that night Grandma Nancy said to
Eunice, “Eunice, when you say them other chilluns
is gwine t’ be baptized ?”

“On th’ first Sunday.

Why, Grandma?” an-
swered the girl, drawing near and taking her grand-

mother’s hand in hers.
repeated.

“I was jes’ a-thinkin’,” said her grandmother,
“I was jes’ a-thinkin’ that you could go an’ be
baptized, too.”

“O Grandma Nancy!” cried Eunice, “can I for
true be baptized? An’ can I tell Teacher that th’
preacher can baptize me, too, on th’ first Sunday ?”

“Yes, chile,” Grandpa Dan spoke up; “you sho’
e’n be baptized, an’ me an’ yo’ gran’ma is gwine
? jine, too, fust chance us gits.”

When the first Sunday came, Eunice was the
happiest child in the whole congregation as she bent
her head over the battered tin basin and was bap-
tized into the name of the Triune God. A few
Sundays later her joy knew no bounds as she sat on .
the front seat and watched her two grandparents
join “Teacher’s church.”

“OY ’oman,” said Grandpa Dan as he stropped
his razor one Sunday morning, “I jes’ been thinkin’
if hit don’t say in th’ Bible somewhat somethin’
*bout “A 1i’l chile shall lead ’em’? If hit do,” he
continued, as he covered his face with Octagon Soap
lather, “hit sho’ is come t? pass in me an’ you.”
R. 0. L. L:

“Why, Grandma?” she

Two Alabama Graves.

It was on a cold, crisp morning that we stood at
those two lone graves in the little cemetery next
to our Lutheran mission chapel at Longmile Place.
The sun was just rising over the dense pine woods.
From the chimneys of several near-by cabins smoke
was lazily curling its way heavenward. A colored
boy, whistling a plantation melody, was vigorously
chopping wood in front of his home. His little
sister, admiring his strength, sat on the stoop gnaw-
ing at a biscuit. In the trees several songsters,
Florida-bound, were warbling lustily. We sat down
on the trunk of a fallen tree, lighted our pipe, and
gave ourselves up to meditation, to thoughts aroused
and stirred up by the sight of those two graves.

In that grave to the right the mortal remains of
old Uncle Simon Bodly were placed to rest on
August 19, 1924.

Not a Vile Sinner.

Old Uncle Simon! He was not a vile sinner.
He tried hard and with a large degree of outward
success to keep God’s holy commandments. Only
a short time ago, a white man, owner of one of the