"It is the afternoon of Mrs. Widesworth's semiannual supper to the
singing-school," hissed Mr. Stellato, maliciously. "The Deacon's
cider-mill stands on the hill just before Mrs. Widesworth's house: the
procession may be expected to pass before her windows about four
o'clock; it will then make the circuit of the town, and reach the top of
the hill a little before five, when the exercises will commence."

Some petulant reply seemed ready to spring from the lips of the
clergyman, but he checked it, and said,--

"You will have more water than fire: those clouds drifting up over the
river mean rain."

"Only wine-bibbers and flesh-eaters are affected by the weather!"
responded Stellato, with great contempt. "Sunshine and storm are alike
wholesome to the purified seekers for truth!"

"But there is no time to lose," cried Mrs. Romulus. "We have come to ask
you, as pastor of the first church in this place, to make the prayer
before the torch is applied. You will doubtless decline; but we shall
then be able to assure the people that the Gladiators are rejected by an
apostate church, which has been cordially invited to become their
fellow-worker."

"You had really better think of it," urged Stellato, in a seductive
whisper. "The fact is, there is a great excitement, and we are getting
on famously. We are bound to carry the county at the next election, and
in a year or two we shall sweep the State. We have already enrolled some
of the best members of your parish, and you see the Deacon is added to