SermonStudio

THE SCHOOL marm with the sternest looking glasses in the congregation would hardly have called the pastor's children "kids," but that is not a bad description; for to Peter Pulpitpounder it seemed that his own boys and girls would eat anything set before them, and the little one in diapers would eat things not set before her.

To be sure, Mrs. Pulpitpounder kept herself from doing things which the parishioners might gossip about, because after she had followed her little one around all day, and had sat up waiting for her big ones half the night, she had little time to get into mischief - especially since the rest of her time was spent on the congregation.

Now few women have greater variety in their work than preachers' wives, because when Mrs. Pulpitpounder grew tired of mopping floors, she could type bulletins, and when it became wearisome to iron white shirts, there was always the black mimeograph to crank.

And seldom is there a woman who is trained in so many businesses of this world, for the preacher's wife learns to run a hotel, operate a restaurant, manage a laundry, conduct a nursery, publish a newspaper, head a music department, and - if time allows so fine a luxury, be a wife to her preacher.

Now like the Lord, Peter Pulpitpounder loved his children most when they were on their knees - not however, because they were praying their prayers, but because they were going to bed. Soon it would be quiet in the house, and he could read a verse in his Bible only once and understand what he had read. But still, it was not only in their sleeping hours that this holy man loved his children. He loved them also when they were awake, although it took more of God's help to love Paul, Jr., when he was sliding down the rainpipe which Peter, Sr., had just repaired; and it was a bit harder to love Peter II when he was shooting paper wads in church made from the children's program sheet. And yet, the pastor loved them all, for they were his-the preacher's kids!

One day Peter Pulpitpounder heard his children called the "p. k.'s." He scratched his bare head with his short finger and wondered what that could mean, until Matthew, age nine and an avid stamp collector, instructed his father, "That stands for preacher's kids." But the longer Peter thought about how ornery his children could be, the more he felt that "p. k." should stand for "papa's kutups."

It was well known to most of the villagers, especially those who lived nearest to the parsonage, that Peter Pulpitpounder's children gave him much help in his sermon preparation. This was not, of course, because they left him to his peace and quiet, for this they seldom managed to do. It was, instead, that his children's trousers proved excellent material on which to practice his sermon delivery, for Peter believed religiously in sparing no rod and spoiling no child. And when the villagers heard frequent pounding resound through the windows of the parsonage, they flipped coins to see whether the parson was practicing his sermon or thrashing his urchins.

One Sunday the Pulpitpounders set off for the annual Sunday school picnic, leaving the back door open, should someone bring them a chicken, or an "ostkaka," or a dozen of eggs. The picnic was exciting as the girls raced with their feet in gunny sacks, and the boys balanced apples on their noses.

Now Peter Pulpitpounder overheard his trustees debating as they watched the contests. His chairman said, "Preacher's kids are always the orneriest kids in the congregation."

The pastor drew closer to his trustees. "Do you know why that is true?" he asked them, smiling. "They learn that from all the other children in the congregation." He laughed, pounding his knee.