"The white waist can only be explained as showing distinct hope!"
whispered the minister's wife during the reading of the church notices.

"To me it shows more than hope; I am very sure that Nancy would never
take any wear out of that lace for hope; it means certainty!" answered
Maria, who was always strong in the prophetic line.

By sermon time Justin's identity had dawned upon most of the
congregation. A stranger to all but one or two at first, his presence in
the Peabody pew brought his face and figure back, little by little, to
the minds of the old parishioners.

When the contribution plate was passed, the sexton always began at the
right-wing pews, as all the sextons before him had done for a hundred
years. Every eye in the church was already turned upon Justin and Nancy,
and it was with almost a gasp that those in the vicinity saw a ten dollar
bill fall in the plate. The sexton reeled, or, if that is too
intemperate a word for a pillar of the church, the good man tottered, but
caught hold of the pew rail with one hand, and, putting the thumb of his
other over the bill, proceeded quickly to the next pew, lest the stranger
should think better of his gift, or demand change, as had occasionally
been done in the olden time.

Nancy never fluttered an eyelash, but sat quietly by Justin's side with
her bosom rising and falling under the beaver fur and her cold hands
clasped tight in the little brown muff. Far from grudging this
appreciable part of their slender resources, she thrilled with pride to
see Justin's offering fall in the plate.

Justin was too absorbed in his own thoughts to notice anything, but his