two members."

"That is a whopper," Cavanaugh said. "I'd like to set and listen
sometimes. I've had fresh light given me many a day by other men's
interpretations of passages I'd overlooked."

"We are very thorough," Whaley responded, warming up to the subject.
Then he turned to John. "What church do you belong to?" he asked, rather
sharply.

"I haven't joined any yet," John answered. He was slightly embarrassed
and yet could not have told why.

"Oh, he will come around all right before long," Cavanaugh thrust in,
quickly. "I've got him in charge."

"Well, he is old enough to affiliate somewhere," the farmer said,
crisply. "It is getting entirely too common these days to meet young
folks that think they can get along without divine guidance. That is our
meeting-house there. We are laying off to put a fresh coat of paint on
it in the fall."

They passed the little steepled structure and walked on down the thinly
inhabited street which was as much a country road as a street, till they
came to a two-story house with a small farm behind it. A tall, thin
woman in a gingham dress sat on the long veranda and rose at their
approach.

"This is the house and that's my wife," Whaley explained. "The property
isn't mine. I'm just a renter, but I can keep it as long as I want to.
We've been here ten years." He opened the gate and let the new-comers
enter ahead of him. They were introduced. Mrs. Whaley shook hands as
stiffly as had her husband.

"Come right in," she said, smiling. "I know you've had a hot, dusty
train-ride, and I reckon you will want to rest."

They put down their bags in the little bare-looking hallway from which a
narrow flight of stairs ascended, and followed her into a big parlor on
the right. Here they took chairs. The afternoon sun shone in through six
wide windows and fell on the clean, carpetless floor. A wide fireplace
was filled with the boughs of mountain cedar, and the hearth had been
freshly whitewashed. There was a table in the center of the room, a tiny
cottage organ between two windows, and some crude and gaudy print
pictures in mahogany frames on the walls. The four individuals formed an
awkward, purposeless group, and no one seemed able to think of anything
to say. John was wondering what could possibly happen next, when Mrs.
Whaley said:

"I know you both must be thirsty. I'll get Tilly to fetch in some fresh
water from the well."

She rose stiffly and left the room. "Oh, Tilly! Tilly