t each other across the pews, I don't think I'll apply for
the job. Let Billy Sewall tackle it. There's one thing about it--if they
get to fighting in the aisles Billy'll leap down from the pulpit, roll
up his sleeves, and pull the combatants apart. A virile religion is
Billy's, and I rather think he's the man for the hour."

II

"Hi, there, Ol--why not get something doing with that hammer? Don't
you see the edge of that pulpit stair-carpeting is all frazzled? The
preacher'll catch his toes in it, and then where'll his ecclesiastical
dignity be?"

The slave-driver was Guy, shouting down from the top of a tall
step-ladder, where he was busy screwing into place the freshly cleaned
oil-lamps whose radiance was to be depended upon to illumine the ancient
interior of the North Estabrook church. He addressed his eldest brother,
Oliver, who, in his newness to the situation and his consequent lack of
sympathy with the occasion, was proving but an indifferent worker. This
may have been partly due to the influence of Oliver's wife, Marian, who,
sitting--in Russian sables--in one of the middle pews, was doing what
she could to depress the labourers. The number of these, by the way, had
been reinforced by the arrival of the entire Fernald clan, to spend
Christmas.

"Your motive is undoubtedly a good one," Mrs. Oliver conceded. She spoke
to Nan, busy near her, and she gazed critically about the shabby old
walls, now rapidly assuming a quite different aspect as the great ropes
of laurel leaves swung into place under the direction of Sam Burnett.
That young man now had Edson Fernald and Charles Wetmore--Carolyn's
husband--to assist him, and he was making the most of his opportunity
to order about two gentlemen who had shown considerable reluctance to
remove their coats, but who were now--to his satisfaction--perspiring so
freely that they had some time since reached the point of casting aside
still other articles of apparel. "But I shall be much surprised,"
Mrs. Oliver continued, "if you attain your object. Nobody can be more
obstinate in their prejudice than the people of such a little place as
this. You may get them out--though I doubt even that--but you are quite
as likely as not to set them by the ears and simply make matters worse."

"It's Christmas," replied Nan. Her cheeks were the colour of the holly
berries in the great wreaths she was arranging to place on either side
of the wall behind the pulpit. "They can't q