JOHN B. PENNEPACKER
vone annodder any more, and ven Richard gets puried Chames vas not invited to de funeral, but he goes to de Graveyard. I chust told Chames dat I vanted somesing vat pelonged to dem olt Pannebeckers to pring home for de Governor. Den Chames say he haf such a knife, vat olt Villiam Pannebecker made, vat made rifles in Langaster County for de Revolution, but he don't know vere dat knife is any more; and den he calls de vomen and he says, ‘Vere is dat knife vat Villiam Pannebecker made for me and I gif him a tollar for it?’ and de vomen, dey don't know, dey haven't seen dat knife diese long vile any more; but dey hunt, and dere it vas in de drawer of de olt chest—sure.”
Out of his capacious pocket John drew a huge home-made knife, with a handle of maple wood, and a broad, curved blade, six inches long.
“Here is dat knife; you can haf it. If you don't vant it, I vould chust keep it myself.”
“Pryan is out again to be President,” said John, philosophical and reminiscent. “I don't know much apout it, and I don't care much one vay or de odder. But I don't pelieve he vill efer be President. Ven a man vants an office so awful bad, dat is chust ven he don't get it. I could haf been a school director vonce, and I say to eferypody I danks 'em as much if dey votes against me as if dey votes for me.”
John is an elder in the German Reformed Church. He goes to church regularly every Sunday and all of his ways are upright. A neighbor said to me of him: “If eferypody vas like Chon Pennepacker dere vould be little drouble in de vorld.”
His system of theology is simple.
“John,” I asked, “how does it happen that while your great-grandfather was a Mennonite, you are a member of the German Reformed Church?”
