g, Deborah, of course that's
out of the question. I suppose I shall go. I shouldn't like to offend
the Fernalds, and they do say Guy's wife's brother is worth hearing.
There's to be music, too."

"I wish I could go," sighed poor Deborah, under her breath. "To be able
to go--and to wonder whether you will! --_O Lord_--" she closed her
patient eyes and whispered it-- "_make them all choose to go--to Thy
house--this Christmas Day. And to thank Thee that the doors are
open--and that they have strength to go. And help me to bear it--to
stay home!_"

IV

"The problem is--" said the Reverend William Sewall, standing at the
back of the church with his sister Margaret, and Guy Fernald, her
husband, and Nan and Sam Burnett--the four who had, as yet, no children,
and so could best take time, on Christmas afternoon, to make the final
arrangements for the evening-- "the problem is--to do the right thing,
to-night. It would be so mighty easy to do the wrong one. Am I the only
man to stand in that pulpit--and is it all up to me?"

He regarded the pulpit as he spoke, richly hung with Christmas greens
and seeming eagerly to invite an occupant.

"I should say," observed his brother-in-law, Guy, his face full of
affection and esteem for the very admirable figure of a young man who
stood before him, "that a fellow who's just pulled off the sort of
service we know you had at St. John's this morning, wouldn't consider
this one much of a stunt."

Sewall smiled. "Somehow this strikes me as the bigger one," said he.
"The wisest of my old professors used to say that the further you got
into the country the less it mattered about your clothes but the more
about your sermon. I've been wondering, all the way up, if I knew enough
to preach that sermon. Isn't there any minister in town, not even a
visiting one?"

"Not a one. You can't get out of it, Billy Sewall, if you have got an
attack of stage-fright--which we don't believe."

"There _is_ one minister," Nan admitted. "But I'd forgotten all about
him, till Father mentioned him last night. But he doesn't really count
at all. He's old--very old--and infirm."

"Superannuated, they call it," added Sam Burnett. "Poor old chap. I've
seen him--I met him at the post-office this morning. He has a peaceful
face. He's a good man. He must have been a strong one--in his time."

"Had he anything to do with the church trouble?" Sewall demanded, his
keen brown eyes eager.

Nan and Guy laugh