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Mr. Hubbell's Conversion

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Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Jan 17, 1907

FromReview and Herald, Vol. 84, No. 3.

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Mr. Hubbell's Conversion

By Lephia B. Larson

LEPHIA B. LARSON
MRS. CLONKEY had lately recovered from typhoid fever, and the doctor advised outdoor work for a while; so she went with her husband on his missionary journeys.
She chose canvassing for her part in the Lord's work, and soon regained her health. She was a sprightly little woman with pleasant face and kindly ways. The evangelists were holding meetings in the village, and Mrs. Clonkey canvassed the farmers near by.
One morning as she stepped inside the gate of an enclosure filled with blossoming fruit-trees and sweet lilacs, she saw a man a little way down the field, and seating herself on an old box, waited for him to approach. He was hoeing potatoes, and came slowly toward her.
At last the row was finished, and Mr. Hubbell crossed the patch of grass, leaned against the apple-tree beneath which the lady sat, and said, as he mopped the perspiration from his sun-burned face, “Fine day, ma'am; an' work just a heaping up. Books?—No! No! I hain't time to look at 'em! but Marthy an' Jim are powerful fond o' readin'. Jes' step along up to the house and like es not Marthy 'll take one.”
Mr. Hubbell led the way to the house, and opened the door. “Hey, Marthy,” he called, and a girl of seventeen came from the kitchen. “Where's Jamie? Have a chair, ma'm. O! here you be,” as a tall boy of fourteen appeared slowly advancing on crutches.
Mrs. Clonkey sat down and laid her books on the table. “If there's anything you want, Marthy, why just subscribe for it!” Mr. Hubbell swallowed a dipperful of water, and hurried back to his hoeing.
An hour passed and still Martha and James Hubbell listened while Mrs. Clonkey read from several books. “O, how I wish father could have heard you read that!” exclaimed the happy boy as a chapter from “Steps to Christ” was finished.
Mrs. Clonkey gathered up her papers, making ready to visit the next farmhouse just in sight, when Mr. Hubbell appeared, flushed and excited. “There—O mercy—PIGS! Marthy, run! Would you mind helpin' us a little, ma'm? I'll pay you well fer it. You see Jamie's lame and can't help.”
Mrs. Clonkey smiled, and laid her Bible and magazines on a chair. It had been several years since she had run down pigs that way. Off they started across the garden. Any one who has ever helped to catch young pigs knows just what kind of time they had. Mr. Hubbell, who was a large, heavy man, puffed and yelled and used some bad language, while the eight little pigs ran hither and thither through the garden, which was the farmer's delight.
“I'll—never—keep—another,” he panted as he chased a little black one round and round an apple-tree. “They're the meanest things—in—the—whole creation! Come, Marthy, hurry! I've got him! Just help me a little. Pshaw! there, he's got away! Let him go; I'm clean beat out. Let's go to the house.”
They went to the house. Mrs. Clonkey gathered up her books. Mr. Hubbell asked her to remain for supper, but time was very precious to her now. “I really can not,” she answered, looking at her watch. “My husband is holding meetings in the village, and expects me to be back to help him.”
“O father,” cried Jamie, “let us go. Let us drive the lady to town.”
A frown gathered on Mr. Hubbell's face. His warmth of manner suddenly changed to zero. “I believe I did hear something about your meetings,” he said. “Well, your man won't get any converts round here. Folks round here are too orthodox, though maybe there'll some on 'em go 'n hear what's said! Do you preach, too?” he added, after a long look at the garden where the eight little pigs had committed such depredations.
“No, I don't preach,” said Mrs. Clonkey, “but I help in other ways that I can. We are going to stay two weeks. Try to bring the children, Mr. Hubbell.”
“Not if I know it,” snarled Mr. Hubbell.
“I wish we could go,” said Jamie.
“We never go anywhere since mother died,” pleaded Martha; “please let us go; come with us, father.”
“Bosh! Nonsense!” growled the father.
“You seemed to be a woman of some sense, but it hain't possible, ef you belong to them that air looking for the second coming of Christ. I ain't much use for any religion, and no use for your kind. No time at all fer it, ma'm!”
“Yes, brother,” answered Mrs. Clonkey, lifting her soft blue eyes to the man's angry gaze. “Yes, brother, Jesus is coming soon, to save all his faithful ones from the sorrow and distress of this sin-cursed earth. Come to the meeting to-night, brother. We will do you good. Don't harden your heart to the Saviour, who died for you.”
Mr. Hubbell bent a terrible frown upon the little woman, and said, angrily, “You go, an' take them papers along with you!”
Jamie and Martha followed her to the gate. “I'm sorry father talked so to you,” said Martha. “He's an infidel, you know, and he and Mr. Offish treat Christian folk dreadfully bad. When mother died, father and Mr. Offish made up their minds not to have any kind of sermon or reading at her funeral, but Jamie and I cried so that Miss Bringwald read a few verses from the Bible. Poor, dear mother, how hard father made it for her to live right!” and Martha leaned against the gate-post while the tears flowed unrestrained.
“Father's good to us every other way, but he won't let us go where we can hear anything about Jesus,” said Jamie. “I thought I'd tell you we'd like to come to the meeting so much.”
“You poor, dear children,” said Mrs. Clonkey. “May the Lord bless and keep you! Good night,” and she kissed the curls on Jamie's brow.
The sad eyes of the “little mother” followed the woman till a turn in the road hid her from view, then with a deep sigh the boy and girl slowly walked back to their cheerless home—cheerless because God's name was never used save in oaths, and the story of the love of the Saviour was considered a fable fit only for an idle moment's jesting.
“I kept one little book,” said Jamie, “I had to.”
Aberdeen, Wash.
(To be concluded)