room, "ef blasphemy means what
Mis' Kinney sez it does, to speak stupidly."

Three years had passed. The novelty of Draxy's relation to her people had
worn off. The neighboring people had ceased to wonder and to talk; and the
neighboring ministers had ceased to doubt and question. Clairvend and she
had a stout supporter in old Elder Williams, who was looked upon as a high
authority throughout the region. He always stayed at Reuben Miller's
house, when he came to the town, and his counsel and sympathy were
invaluable to Draxy. Sometimes he said jocosely, "I am the pastor of
Brother Kinney's old parish and Mis' Kinney is my curate, and I wish
everybody had as good an one."

It finally grew to be Draxy's custom to read one of her husband's sermons
in the forenoon, and to talk to the people informally in the afternoon.
Sometimes she wrote out what she wished to say, but usually she spoke
without any notes. She also wrote hymns which she read to them, and which
the choir sometimes sang. She was now fully imbued with the feeling that
everything which she could do, belonged to her people. Next to Reuben,
they filled her heart; the sentiment was after all but an expanded and
exalted motherhood. Strangers sometimes came to Clairvend to hear her
preach, for of course the fame of the beautiful white-robed woman-preacher
could not be confined to her own village. This always troubled Draxy very
much.

"If we were not so far out of the world, I should have to give it up," she
said; "I know it is proper they should come; but it seems to me just as
strange as if they were to walk into the study in the evening when I am
teaching Reuby. I can't make it seem right; and when I see them writing
down what I say, it just paralyzes me."

It might have seemed so to Draxy, but it did not to her hearers. No one
would have supposed her conscious of any disturbing presence. And more
than one visitor carried away with him written records of her eloquent
words.

One of her most remarkable sermons was called "The Gospel of Mystery."

The text was Psalm xix. 2:--

"Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night sheweth knowledge."

First she dwelt on the sweet meaning of the word Gospel. "Dear friends,"
she said, "it is a much simpler word than we realize; it is only 'good
news,' 'good tidings.' We get gospels every day. Our children send us good
news of their lives. What gospels of joy are such letters! And nations to
nations send good