He was such a proper meek man and showed so few likings
that I feel like I oughter honor this one by growing these vines in
plenty as a remembrance, even if he has been dead forty-odd years."
"Was your husband a minister?" asked Everett in a voice of becoming
respect to the meek Mr. Robards, though he be demised for nearly half
a century.
"He was that, and a proper, saddlebags-riding, torment-preaching
circuit rider before he was made presiding elder at an astonishing
early age," answered Miss Lavinia, a fading fire blazing up in her
dark eyes. "He saved many a sinner in Harpeth Valley by preaching both
heaven and hell in their fitten places, what's a thing this younger
generation don't know how to do any more, it seems like. A sermon that
sets up heaven like a circus tent, with a come-sinner-come-all sign,
and digs hell no deeper than Mill Creek swimming pool, as is skeercely
over a boy's middle, ain't no sermon at all to my mind. Most preaching
in Sweetbriar are like that nowadays."
"But Brother Robards had a mighty sweet voice and he gave the call of
God's love so as to draw answers from all hearts," said Miss Amanda in
her own sweet little voice, as she jabbed in the beans with her right
hand and drew the dirt over them with her left.
"Yes, husband was a little inclined to preach from Psalms more'n good
rousing Proverbs, but I always belt him to the main meat of the Gospel
and only let him feed the flock on the sweets of faith in proper
proportion," answered Miss Lavinia, with an echo in her voice of the
energy expended in keeping the presiding elder to a Jeremiah rather
than a David role in his ministry.
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