yanna's eager little lips touched a heart already
strangely softened. At all events, when Pollyanna went home that night
she carried with her an invitation for Jimmy Bean himself to call at the
great house with Pollyanna the next Saturday afternoon.

"And I'm so glad, and I'm sure you'll like him," sighed Pollyanna, as
she said good-by. "I do so want Jimmy Bean to have a home--and folks
that care, you know."

CHAPTER XXII. SERMONS AND WOODBOXES

On the afternoon that Pollyanna told John Pendleton of Jimmy Bean, the
Rev. Paul Ford climbed the hill and entered the Pendleton Woods, hoping
that the hushed beauty of God's out-of-doors would still the tumult that
His children of men had wrought.

The Rev. Paul Ford was sick at heart. Month by month, for a year past,
conditions in the parish under him had been growing worse and worse;
until it seemed that now, turn which way he would, he encountered only
wrangling, backbiting, scandal, and jealousy. He had argued, pleaded,
rebuked, and ignored by turns; and always and through all he had
prayed--earnestly, hopefully. But to-day miserably he was forced to own
that matters were no better, but rather worse.

Two of his deacons were at swords' points over a silly something
that only endless brooding had made of any account. Three of his most
energetic women workers had withdrawn from the Ladies' Aid Society
because a tiny spark of gossip had been fanned by wagging tongues into a
devouring flame of scandal. The choir had split over the amount of solo
work given to a fanciedly preferred singer. Even the Christian Endeavor
Society was in a ferment of unrest owing to open criticism of two of its
officers. As to the Sunday school--it had been the resignation of its
superintendent and two of its teachers that had been the last straw, and
that had sent the harassed minister to the quiet woods for prayer and
meditation.

Under the green arch of the trees the Rev. Paul Ford faced the thing
squarely. To his mind, the crisis had come. Something must be done--and
done at once. The entire work of the church was at a standstill. The
Sunday services, the week-day prayer meeting, the missionary teas, even
the suppers and socials were becoming less and less well attended. True,
a few conscientious workers were still left. But they pulled at cross
purposes, usually; and always they showed themselves to be acutely aware
of the critical eyes all about them, and of the tongues that had nothin