The snow creaked and
crisped under the runners. A shrill wind was keening in the
leafless dogwoods. Over the trees the sky was a dome of silver,
with a lucent star or two on the slope of the west. Earth-stars
gleamed warmly out here and there, where homesteads were tucked
snugly away in their orchards or groves of birch.
"The church will be jammed to-night," said Eben. "It's so fine
that folks will come from near and far. Guess it'll be
exciting."
"If only father would testify!" sighed Mollie, from the bottom of
the pung, where she was snuggled amid furs and straw. "Miriam
can say what she likes, but I do feels as if we were all
disgraced. It sends a creep all over me to hear Mr. Bentley say,
'Now, isn't there one more to say a word for Jesus?' and look
right over at father."
Eben flicked his mare with his whip, and she broke into a trot.
The silence was filled with a faint, fairy-like melody from afar
down the road where a pungful of young folks from White Sands
were singing hymns on their way to meeting.
"Look here, Mollie," said Eben awkwardly at last, "are you going
to stand up for prayers to-night?"
"I--I can't as long as father acts this way," answered Mollie, in
a choked voice. "I--I want to, Eb, and Mirry and Bob want me to,
but I can't. I do hope that the evangelist won't come and talk
to me special to-night. I always feels as if I was being pulled
two different ways, when he does.
Pages:
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239