http://www.emmitsburg.net/archive_list/articles/history/hays/hays_intro.htm

Grandmother Hays was a Witherow, by the name of Sarah Ann, whose parents lived some 15 miles east of Emmitsburg, near the Monocacy river, along which Jonathan Hays III had settled. Two things I do know about the Witherows; they were staunch Presbyterians, and John, the father of Sarah, served in the Revolutionary War. In a Bicentennial History of the Emmitsburg Presbyterian Church, published in 1960, is the following:

IN MEMORY OF
JOHN WITHEROW
REVOLUTIONARY PATRIOT
BORN 1731 DIED 1794
HIS WIFE, MARGARET BARBOUR AND FAMILY; WILLIAM, JOHN, DAVID, SAMUEL, JANE, SARAH, ELIZABETH, MARGARET

*John Witherow, an Elder in the Presbyterian Church in 1824, the father of Sarah Witherow (Hays)

Grandmother Hays must have had a more formal education than most young women had at that time, or so it would seem from reading a letter she wrote to Grandfather Hays, whom she was soon to marry. Not only is her letter well written; it also indicates that she was strong willed and certainly not shy.

I have only the faintest recollection of her and only a slightly stronger one of Grandfather Hays. By the townspeople he was considered "tight," which means that he spent little or nothing for anything other than necessities. In those days, a youngster could buy quite a lot of candy with a penny, so feeling a desire for some, I sought his help. His answer, after taking off his derby hat and looking carefully in it, was: "There's not a penny in it." That was the end of it. I never tried again.

This brief account of my paternal grandparents allows me to recall an incident that our neighbors, the Shuffs, liked to recounts. Our house was directly across the street from the Church, the house being the one in which we were raised. But we were also raised in the Church, although "raised" is hardly the right word. We practically grew up in it. Whenever anything happened at Church, we were there. On Sundays, it was Sunday School, both morning and night worship service, with a young people's meeting thrown in. At times there would be a fifth meeting, for children, called Mission Band. And in one way or other, we were all involved. Mother played the organ, and one of my brothers or I would ring the church bell. We were responsible for stoking the coal furnace on Saturday. When the offering was taken, we passed the plates. And of course we went to the regular Wednesday night Prayer Meeting, and to the monthly social gathering at the home of a member. Thus, when my grandfather Hays' funeral was held, in 1912, 1 felt it was business as usual, and began passing out hymn books, as this was always done when strangers were present. This apparently was not the thing to do, for a neighbor pulled me aside, telling me to sit down and be still.