The Quaker's Corn Crib

The Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Jul 2, 1861

The Quaker's Corn Crib.

A man had been in the habit of stealing corn from his neighbor who was a Quaker. Every night he would go softly to the crib and fill his bag with the ears which the good old quaker's toil had placed there. Every morning the old gentleman observed a diminution of his corn-pile. This was very annoying, and must be stopped—but how? Many a one would have said, "Take a gun, conceal yourself, wait till he comes, and fire." Others would have said, "Catch the villain, and have him sent to jail."

But the quaker was not prepared to enter into any such severe measures. He wanted to punish the offender, and at the same time bring about his reformation, if possible. So he fixed a sort of trap close to the hole through which the man would thrust his arm in getting the corn.

The wicked neighbor proceeded on his unholy errand at the hour of midnight with bag in hand. Unsuspectingly he thrust his hand into the crib to seize an ear, when, lo, he found himself unable to withdraw it. In vain he tugged, and pulled, and sweated, and alternately cried and cursed. His hand was fast, and every effort to release it only made it more secure. After a time the tumult in his breast measurably subsided. He gave over his useless struggles, and began to look around him. All was silence and repose. Good men were sleeping quietly in their beds, while he was compelled to keep a dreary, disgraceful watch through the remainder of that long and tedious night, his hand in constant pain from the pressure of the clamp which held it. His tired limbs, compelled to sustain his weary body, would fain have sunk beneath him, and his heavy eyes would have closed in slumber, but lo, there was no rest, no sleep for him. There he must stand and watch the progress of the night and at once desire and dread the return of morning. Morning came at last, and the Quaker looked out of his window, and found that he had "caught his man."

What was to be done? Some would say, "Go out and give him a good cow-hiding just as he stands, and then release him, and that'll cure him." But not so said the Quaker. Such a course would have sent the man away embittered and muttering curses of revenge. The good old man hurried on his clothes, and started at once to the relief and punishment of his prisoner.

"Good morning friend," said he, as he came in speaking distance. "How does thee do?"

The poor culprit made no answer, but burst into tears.

"O, fie!" said the Quaker, as he proceeded to release him. "I'm sorry that thee has got thy hand fast. Thee put it in the wrong place, or it would not have been so."

The man looked crestfallen, and begging forgiveness, hastily turned to make his retreat.

"Stay," said his persecutor—for he was now becoming such to his offender, who could have received a blow with much better grace than the kind words that were falling from the Quaker's lips—"stay, friend thy bag is not filled. Thee needs corn, or thee would not have taken so much pains to get it. Come, let us fill it!" (And the poor fellow was obliged to stand and hold the bag while the old man filled it, interspersing the exercise with the pleasantest conversation imaginable—all of which were like daggers in the heart of his chagrined and mortified victim.)

The bag was filled and the string tied, and the sufferer hoped soon to be out of the presence of his tormenter, but again his purpose was thwarted.

"Stay," said the Quaker, as the man was about to hurry off, having muttered once more his apologies and thanks, "stay, Ruth has breakfast ere this; must not think of going without breakfast. Come, Ruth is calling!"

This was almost unendurable. This was "heaping coals" with a vengeance! In vain the mortified neighbor begged to be excused; in vain he pleaded to be released from what would be to him a punishment ten times more severe than stripes and imprisonment. The Quaker was inexorable and he was obliged to yield.

Breakfast over, "Now," said the old farmer, as he helped the victim to shoulder the bag, "If thee needs any more corn, come in the day time and thee shall have it."

With what shame and remorse did that guilty man turn from the dwelling of that pious Quaker! Everybody is ready to say that he never again troubled the Quaker's corn-crib. I have something

still better than that to tell you. He at once repented and reformed, and an informant tells me that he afterwards heard him relate, in an experience meeting, the substance of the story I have related, and he attributed his conversion, under God's blessing, to the course the Quaker had pursued, to arrest him in his downward course.