"But Angy, we only meant that then we could hev her for our minister,"
they replied.

Angy turned very red, but replied, energetically,--

"There ain't any law agin a woman's bein' minister, thet I ever heerd on.
Howsomever, Mis' Kinney never'd hear to anythin' o' that kind. I don' no'
for my part how she ever mustered up courage to do what she's done, so
kind o' backward 'n' shy's she is for all her strength. But for my part, I
wouldn't ask for no other preachin' all the rest o' my life, than jest to
hear Mis' Kinney read one o' her husband's sermons every Sunday."

"Why, Angy Plummer!" burst from more lips than one. But the bold
suggestion was only the half-conscious thought of every one there, and the
discussion grew more and more serious. Slowly the people dispersed to
their homes, but the discussion still continued. Late into night, by many
a fireside, the matter was talked over, and late the next night, and the
next, until a vague hope and a still vaguer purpose sprang up in the
parish.

"She said she'd read another some day," they reiterated. "Most likely
she'd 's soon do it next Sunday, 'n' sooner, 'cause she'd be more used
to't than ef she waited a spell between."

"But it won't do to take it for granted she's goin' to, 'n' not git
anybody," said Deacon Swift, in great perplexity. "I think Brother Plummer
'n' me'd better go 'n' ask her."

"No," said Angy, "let me go. I can talk it over better'n you can. I'll
go."