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Rh wouldn't hurt one of them for the world. They always remind me of you.

We hitched up the spring wagon this morning and drove to the Center to church. It's a sweet little white frame church with a spire and three Doric columns in front (or maybe Ionic—I always get them mixed).

A nice, sleepy sermon with everybody drowsily waving palm-leaf fans, and the only sound aside from the minister, the buzzing of locusts in the trees outside. I didn't wake up till I found myself on my feet singing the hymn, and then I was awfully sorry I hadn't listened to the sermon; I should like to know more of the psychology of a man who would pick out such a hymn. This was it: