Jem’s face showed brief indecision on the ethics of withholding his own dime, but his innate courtesy won and he shifted his dime to his pocket.
I did likewise with no qualms. “Cal,” I whispered, “where are the hymn-books?”
“We don’t have any,” she said. “Well how—?” “Sh-h,” she said.
Reverend Sykes was standing behind the pulpit staring the congregation to silence.
He was a short, stocky man in a black suit, black tie, white shirt, and a gold watch-chain that glinted in the light from the frosted windows.
He said, “Brethren and sisters, we are particularly glad to have company with us this morning.
Mister and Miss Finch. You all know their father. Before I begin I will read some announcements.”
Reverend Sykes shuffled some papers, chose one and held it at arm’s length.
The Missionary Society meets in the home of Sister Annette Reeves next Tuesday. Bring your sewing.”
He read from another paper. “You all know of Brother Tom Robinson’s trouble.
He has been a faithful member of First Purchase since he was a boy.
The collection taken up today and for the next three Sundays will go to Helen—his wife, to help her out at home.
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