The Shenks didn’t invite him to dinner; their understanding was finer than that.  Pa Shenk just said, “Let me drive out first, John Wesley; I’ll go on ahead and open the gate,” And J.W. said to Jeannette, “Jump into my car, Jean; it isn’t fair to put everybody into Pa Shenk’s Ford when mine’s younger and nearly empty.”

So that was that; all regular and comfortable and proper.  If Mrs. Newell smiled as she watched them drive away, what of it?  She was heard to say to Mrs. Bellamy, “I’ve known for three years that those two ought to wake up and fall in love with each other, and they’ve been slower than Father Foltz’s old gray mare.  But it looks as though they were getting their eyes open at last.”

At the farm Mrs. Shenk hurried to finish up the dinner preparations, with Jeannette to help.  Ben and little Alice contended for J.W.’s favor, until he took Alice on his knee and put one arm about her and the other about her brother, standing by the chair.  And Pa Shenk talked about the church.

“I reckon I shouldn’t complain, John Wesley,” he said, “seeing that our Marty is a country preacher, and maybe he’ll be having to handle a job like this some time.  But I can’t believe he will.  His letters don’t read like it.”

“But, Pa Shenk,” said J.W., “don’t you suppose the trouble here in Deep Creek is because you’re so near town?  Nine miles is nothing these days, but when you first came to the farm there was only one automobile in the township.  Now everybody can go into town to church.”

“They can, boy,” Pa Shenk answered, “but they don’t.  Not all of ’em.  Some don’t care enough to go anywhere.  One-year tenants, mostly, they are.  Some go to town, all right enough, but not to church.  A few go to church, I admit, but only a few.”

J.W. started to speak, hesitated, then blurted it out.  “Maybe dad and others like him are responsible for some of the trouble.  They’ve pulled out and left just a few to carry the load.  You’re all right, of course; you really belong here.  But a lot of the farmers who have moved to town have rented their places to what you call one-year tenants, and it seems to me that’s a poor way to build up anything in the country, churches or anything else.  Tenants that are always moving don’t get to know anybody or to count for anything.  It’s not much wonder they are no use to the church.”

“There’s a good deal in that, John Wesley,” said Pa Shenk.  “Your father and me, we get along fine.  We’re more like partners than owner and tenant.  But it isn’t so with these short-term renters.  The owner raises the rent as the price of land rises, and the tenant is mostly too poor to do anything much after he’s paid the rent.  Besides, he’s got no stake in the neighborhood.  Why should he pay to help build a new church, when he’s got to move the first of March?  And the church has been as careless about him as he has been about the church.”

“That’s what bothers me,” J.W. commented.  “But even so, I should think something could be done to interest these folks.  They’ve all got families to bring up.”