to sinners, and Sister Morris had prayed twice, the second time it must
be admitted, with a certain perceptible petulance of tone, as if willing
to have it understood that she was doing more than ought to be expected
of her. But while it was extremely improbable that any others of the
twenty or thirty persons assembled would feel called on to break the
silence, though it stretched to the crack of doom, yet, on the other
hand, to close the meeting before the mill bell had struck nine would
have been regarded as a dangerous innovation. Accordingly, it only
remained to wait in decorous silence during the remaining ten minutes.

The clock ticked on with that judicial intonation characteristic of
time-pieces that measure sacred time and wasted opportunities. At
intervals the pastor, with an innocent affectation of having just
observed the silence, would remark: "There is yet opportunity. . . . .
Time is passing, brethren. . . . . Any brother or sister. . . . . We
shall be glad to hear from any one." Farmer Bragg, tired with his day's
hoeing, snored quietly in the corner of a seat. Mrs. Parker dropped a
hymn-book. Little Tommy Blake, who had fallen over while napping and hit
his nose, snivelled under his breath. Madeline Brand, as she sat at the
melodeon below the minister's desk, stifled a small yawn with her pretty
fingers. A June bug boomed through the open window and circled around
Deacon Tuttle's head, affecting that good man with the solicitude
characteristic of bald-headed persons when buzzing things are about. Next
it made a dive at Madeline, attracted, perhaps, by her shining eyes, and
the little gesture of panic with which she evaded it was the prettiest
thing in the world; at least, so it seemed to Henry Burr, a
broad-shouldered young fellow on the back seat, whose strong, serious
face is just now lit up by a pleasant smile.

Mr. Lewis, the minister, being seated directly under the clock, cannot