Поллианна
Sermons and Woodboxes
Atthefootofthehilltheirwaysparted,andPollyannadownoneroad,andtheministerdownanother,walkedonalone. IntheRev.PaulFord’sstudythateveningtheministersatthinking. Nearhimonthedesklayafewloosesheetsofpaper—hissermonnotes. Underthesuspendedpencilinhisfingerslayothersheetsofpaper,blank—hissermontobe. Buttheministerwasnotthinkingeitherofwhathehadwritten,orofwhatheintendedtowrite. InhisimaginationhewasfarawayinalittleWesterntownwithamissionaryministerwhowaspoor,sick,worried,andalmostaloneintheworld—butwhowasporingovertheBibletofindhowmanytimeshisLordandMasterhadtoldhimto"rejoiceandbeglad."
Afteratime,withalongsigh,theRev.PaulFordrousedhimself,camebackfromthefarWesterntown,andadjustedthesheetsofpaperunderhishand.
"Matthewtwenty-third;13—14and23,"hewrote; then,withagestureofimpatience,hedroppedhispencilandpulledtowardhimamagazineleftonthedeskbyhiswifeafewminutesbefore. Listlesslyhistiredeyesturnedfromparagraphtoparagraphuntilthesewordsarrestedthem:
"Afatheronedaysaidtohisson,Tom,who,heknew,hadrefusedtofillhismother’swoodboxthatmorning:‘Tom,I’msureyou’llbegladtogoandbringinsomewoodforyourmother. ’AndwithoutawordTomwent. Why? Justbecausehisfathershowedsoplainlythatheexpectedhimtodotherightthing. Supposehehadsaid:‘Tom,Ioverheardwhatyousaidtoyourmotherthismorning,andI’mashamedofyou. Goatonceandfillthatwoodbox!’ I’llwarrantthatwoodbox,wouldbeemptyyet,sofarasTomwasconcerned!"
