"We're blessed this evenin'," said the hostess with emotion, "in havin'
Mr. Perley with us. He's goin' to lead the meetin'."

The Reverend Mr. Perley--Reverend by courtesy; he had never been
ordained--stood up, cleared his throat with vigor, rose an inch or two
on the toes of a very squeaky pair of boots, sank to heel level again
and announced that everyone would join in singing, "Hymn number one
hundred and ten, omitting the second and fourth stanzas: hymn number
one hundred and ten, second and fourth stanzas omitted." The melodeon,
tormented by Mrs. Lurania Bassett, shrieked and groaned, and the hymn
was sung. So was another, and yet another. Then Mr. Perley squeaked to
his tiptoes again, subsided, and began a lengthy and fervent discourse.

Mr. Perley had been a blacksmith in Ostable before he "got religion,"
and now spent the major portion of his time in "boardin' 'round" with
"Come-Outers" up and down the Cape and taking part in their meetings.
His services at such gatherings paid for his food and lodging. He had
been a vigorous horseshoer in the old days; now he preached just as
vigorously.

He spoke of the faithful few here gathered together. He spoke of the
scoffing of those outside the pale and hinted at the uncomfortable
future that awaited them. He ran over the various denominations one by
one, and one by one showed them to be worshipers of idols and followers
after strange gods. He sank hoarsely into the bass and quavered up into
falsetto and a chorus of "Amens!" and "Hallelujahs!" followed him.

"Oh, brothers and sisters!" he shouted, "here we are a-kneelin' at
the altar's foot and what's goin' on outside? Why, the Devil's got
his clutches in our midst. The horn of the wicked is exalted. They're