hich she had helped to dress, just as she had helped to trim the
church. She did not believe in such "flummmeries" it is true, and she
classed them with the "quirks," but rather than "see the gals slave
themselves to death," she had this year lent a helping hand. Donning two
shawls, a camlet cloak, a knit scarf for her head, and a hood to keep
from catching cold, she had worked early and late, fashioning the most
wonderfully shaped wreaths, tying up festoons, and even trying her hand
at a triangle; but turning her back resolutely upon crosses, which were
more than her Puritanism could endure. The cross was a "quirk," with
which she'd have nothing to do, though once, when Katy seemed more than
usually bothered and wished somebody would hand her tacks. Aunt Betsy
relented so far as to bring the hoop she was winding close to Katy,
holding the little nails in her mouth, and giving them out as they were
wanted; but with each one given out, conscientiously turning her head
away, lest her eyes should fall upon what she conceived the symbol of
the Romish Church. But when the whole was done, none were louder in
their praises than the good Aunt Betsy, who was guilty of asking Mrs.
Deacon Bannister when she came in to inspect, "why the orthodox couldn't
get up some such doin's for their Sunday school. It pleased the children
mightily."

But Mrs. Deacon Bannister answered with some severity:

"We don't believe in shows and plays, you know," thus giving a double
thrust, and showing that the opera had never been quite forgotten.
"Here's a pair of skates, though, and a smellin' bottle. I'd like to
have put on for John and Sylvia," she added, handing her package to Aunt
Betsy, who, while seeing the skates and smelling bottle suspended from a
bough, was guilty of wondering if "the partaker wasn't most as bad as
the thief."

This was in the afternoon and was all forgotten now, when with her
Sunday clothes she never would have worn in that jam but for the great
occasion, Aunt Betsy elbowed her way up the middle aisle, her face
wearing a very important and knowing look, especially when Uncle
Ephraim's tall figure bent for a moment under the hemlock boughs, and
then disappeared in the little vestry room where he held a private
consultation with the rector. That she knew something her neighbors
didn't was evident. But she kept it to herself, turning her head
occasionally to look up at the organ where Katy was presiding. Others,
too, there