, with word that the missionary need not take
part, a prior invitation having been accepted by Uncle Jimmie Rankin, of
Wildcat Ridge. Fannie, in turn, cried out against this substitution, but
the gentle shepherd explained that what mercy could not obtain official
etiquette compelled.

"Tell us about John March," interposed the General. "They say you saved
his life."

"I reckon I did, sir, humanly speakin'." The Parson told the lurid
story, Fannie holding Barbara's hand as they listened. The church's
first bell began to ring and the Parson started up.

"If only the right man could talk to John! He's very persuadable
to-night and he'd take fum a stranger what he wouldn't take fum us." He
looked fondly to the missionary, who had risen with him. "I wish you'd
try him. You knew him when he was a toddler. He asks about you,
freck-wently."

"You'd almost certainly see him down-town somewhere now," said Fannie.

Barbara gave the missionary her most daring smile of persuasion.

* * * * *

March was found only a step or two from Fannie's gate.

"Well, if this ain't a plumb Provi_dence_!" laughed the Parson. The
three men stopped and talked, and then walked, chatted, and returned.
The starlight was cool and still. At the Parson's gate, March, refusing
to go in, said, yes, he would be glad of the missionary's company on a
longer stroll. The two moved on and were quite out of sight when Fannie
and Barbara, with Johanna close behind them, came out on their way to
church.

"It would be funny," whispered Fannie, "if such a day as this should end
in John March's getting religion, wouldn't it?"

But Barbara could come no nearer to the subject than to say, "I don't
like revivals. I can't. I never could." She dropped her voice
significantly--"Fannie."

"What, dear?"

"What were you going to say when Johanna rang the tea-bell and your
father came in?"

"Was I going to say something? What'd you think it was?"

"I think it was something about Mr. Ravenel."

"O well, then, I reckon it wasn't anything much, was it?"

"I don't know, but--Johanna, you can go on into church." They loitered
among the dim, lamp-lit shadows of the church-yard trees. "You said you
were not like most engaged girls."

"Well, I'm not, am I?"

"No, but why did you say so?"

"Why, you know, Barb, most girls are distressed with doubts of their own
love. I'm not. It's about his that I'm afraid. What do you reckon's the