Over on the other side of the church Elder Duncannon, tall, gaunt,
hairy, with kind gray eyes and a large mouth, reminding slightly of
Abraham Lincoln, sang earnestly, through steel bowed spectacles
adjusted far out on the end of his nose. Behind him Lemuel Tipton, also
an elder, sandy, with cherry lips, apple cheeks and a fringe of
grizzled red hair under his chin, sang with his head thrown back,
looking like a big robin. The minister knew he could depend on those
two. He scanned his audience. The elders were all present. Gibson. He
had a narrow forehead, near-sighted eyes, and an inclination to take
the opposite side from the minister. His lips were thin, and he pursed
them often, and believed in efficiency and discipline. He would
undoubtedly go with Harricutt. Jones, the short fat one who owned the
plush mills and hated boys. He had taken sides against Mark about the
memorial window. No hope from him! Fowler, small, thin, gray, with a
retreating chin, had once lived next to Mrs. Carter and had a difference
about some hens that strayed away to lay. Harricutt likely had him all
primed. Jones, Gibson, Harricutt--three against three. Joyce's vote
would decide it. Joyce was a new man, owner of the canneries. He was a
great stickler for proprieties, yet he seemed to feel that a minister's
word was law--Well--! God was still above--!

The benediction held a tenderness that fairly compelled the waiting
congregation to attend with their hearts.