"Yes, yes, that's the very thing," hastily exclaimed the relieved
deacon,--"that's it, that's it. Why, Mis' Kinney, as for their thinkin' it
strange, there ain't a man in the parish that wouldn't vote for you for
minister twice over if ye wuz only a man. I've heerd 'em all say so more
'n a thousand times sence." Something in Draxy's face cut the Deacon's
sentence short.

"Very well, Mr. Swift," she said. "Then I will try, since you think it
best. My father thought it would be a good plan too, or else I should not
have been willing," she added, gently.

"Reuben Miller's daughter" was still as guileless, reverent, potent a
thought in Draxy's heart as when, upon her unconscious childish lips, the
words had been a spell, disarming and winning all hearts to her.

The news had gone all through the village on Saturday night, that Deacon
Swift was to read one of Elder Kinney's sermons the next day. The whole
parish was present; not a man, not a woman was missing except those who
were kept at home by sickness. A tender solemnity was in every face. Not
often does it happen to a man to be so beloved by a whole community as was
Elder Kinney by this people.

With some embarrassment and hesitation, Deacon Swift read the hymns and
made one of the prayers; Deacon Plummer made the other. Then there came a
pause. Draxy flushed scarlet and half rose in her pew. She had not thought
to tell the Deacon that he must explain to the people beforehand why she
read the sermon. She had taken it for granted that he would do so; but he
did not comprehend that he ought, and only looked nervously towards her,
waiting for her to come forward. This was the one moment which tried