"I say so, too," murmured Mr. Hardcap. I was surprised at this
sudden and unexpected reinforcement. The Deacon told me afterwards,
that Mr. Hardcap had been repairing the parson's roof and had not
got his pay.

"Perhaps," continued I, "we can fund this floating debt, make the
mortgage four thousand five hundred, raise the difference among
ourselves, and so clear it all up. Who holds the mortgage?"

This question produced a sensation like that of opening the seventh
seal in heaven. There was silence for the space of--well, something
less than half an hour. The Treasurer looked at the President. The
President looked at the Treasurer. The male members of the
congregation looked at each other. The Deacon looked at me with a
very significant laugh lurking in the corners of his mouth. At
length the President spoke.

"Well, gentlemen," said he, "I suppose most of you know I hold this
mortgage. I have not called you together because I want to press the
church for the money. But a debt, gentlemen, is a debt, and the
church, above all institutions, ought to remember the divine
injunction of our blessed Master (the President is not very familiar
with Scripture, and may be excused the blunder): 'Owe no man
anything.' ("Except the minister," said Deacon Goodsole, soto voce.)
The proposition of our friend here, however, looks like business to
me. I think the matter can be arranged in that way."

Arranged it was. The President got his additional security, and the
parson got his salary, which was the main thing Jennie cared for.
And to be perfectly frank with the reader, I should not have gone