That was the first and last time he ever found a text in anything but
the Bible. Si Perkins wanted to have Deacon Wiggleford before the
church on charges. Said he'd been told that this pastor emeritus
business was Latin, and it smelt of popery to him; but the Doc
wouldn't stand for any foolishness. Allowed that the special meeting
was illegal, and that settled it; and he reckoned they could leave the
Deacon's case to the Lord. But just the same, the small boys used to
worry Wiggleford considerably by going into his store and yelling:
"Mother says she doesn't want any more of those pastor emeritus eggs,"
or, "She'll send it back if you give us any more of that dead-line
butter."

If the Doc had laid down that Sunday, there'd probably have been a
whole lot of talk and tears over his leaving, but in the end, the
Higher Lifer or some other fellow would have had his job, and he'd
have become one of those nice old men for whom every one has a lot of
respect but no special use. But he kept right on, owning his pulpit
and preaching in it, until the Great Call was extended to him.

I'm a good deal like the Doc--willing to preach a farewell sermon
whenever it seems really necessary, but some other fellow's.

Your affectionate father,

JOHN GRAHAM.




No. 2