hymn and the
congregation arose. The air was vibrant in the unctuous swell of
sound. The spider webs hanging from the rafters trembled; the woods
caught up the echo and bore it afar through the timber-land, and the
distant leaves caught it as a whisper and hushed it. In it there was
not music, not the harmony that seeks the approval of the brain; it
was a chant that called upon the heart to humble itself in the sight
of the Lord and to be brave in the presence of man, the tune that
subdued the wilderness of a new world, a tune that men have sung
before plunging into the swallowing fire of battle. The city is
ashamed of it, laughs at it, but, far away in the country, it is still
the war-cry of Jehovah.

The preacher began in a rambling way, missing the thoughts that he
expected to find, finding thoughts that surprised him. Sometimes his
road was rough, and he clamored over rocks and fell into gullies, but
occasionally he struck a smooth path and then he ran because the way
was easy. After a time he forgot to be impressive and then he
impressed. He filled the house with words, like a flight of pigeons,
and on their backs some of them caught the sunlight that streamed
through the cracks in the walls. Lyman was reminded of one Of William
Wirt's stories--"The Blind Preacher"--the man who in a ruinous old
house raised his hand and cried: "Socrates died like a philosopher,
but Jesus Christ like a God."

There was to be another sermon in the afternoon, by an old man who
plowed for a living and who preached without pay, and Lyman caught
himself wondering whether the McElwins would remain to hear him.
Through the window he saw a light buggy under the trees, and he mused
that they would at least let him help them into it. He was afraid that
they might get away, and he was nervous at the fear that slow-moving
persons, halting in the aisle to talk over the sermon, might obstruct
his path; and as soon as the benediction was pronounced, he hastened
toward the rear end of the house. Eva stepped toward him and frankly
held out her hand.

"Mother, this is Mr. Lyman," she said.

Mrs. McElwin bowed, resolved to be cool and dignified. She said that
she was pleased to meet Mr. Lyman, which statement Mr. Lyman looked
upon as a polite fib. She spoke of the charm of the day and expressed
surprise that the young preacher had done so well. Lyman asked if she
were going to remain to hear the afternoon sermon. She did not think
it wise to sta