Spotted the right one! Up clost to the organ was a gal I'd never saw afore. So many was in the way that I wasn't able t' git more'n a squint at her back hair. But, say! it was _mighty_ pretty hair--brown, and all sorta curly over the ears. When the song was over, ole lady Baker sit down just in front of me; and as she's some chunky, she cut off nearly the hull of my view. "But, Cupid," I says to myself, "I'll bet that wavy hair goes with a sweet face." Minute after, the parson begun t' speak. Wal, soon as ever he got his first words out, I seen that the air was kinda blue and liftin', like it is 'fore a thunder-shower. And his text? It was, "Lo, I am full of fury, I am weary with holdin' it in." Say! _that's_ the kind of preachin' a _puncher_ likes! After he was done, and we was all ready t' go, I tried to get a better look at that gal. But the women folks was movin' my _di_rection, shakin' hands and gabblin' fast to make up fer lost time. Half a dozen of 'em got 'round me. And when I got shet of the bunch, she was just a-passin' out at the far door. My! such a slim, little figger and such a pert, little haid! I made fer the parson. "_Ex_cuse me," I says to him, "but wasn't you talkin' to a young lady just now? and if it ain't too gally, can I _in_-quire who she is?" "Why, yas," answers the parson, smilin' and puttin' one hand on my shoulder. (You know that cuss never oncet ast me if I was a Christian? Aw! I tell y', he was a _gent_.) "That young lady is Billy Trowbridge's sister-in-law." "Sister-in-law!" I repeats. (She was married, then. Gee! I hated t' hear that! 'Cause, just havin' helped Billy t' git his wife, y' savvy, why----) "But, parson, I didn't know the Doc _had_ a brother." (I felt kinda down on Billy all to oncet.) "He ain't," says the parson. "(_Good_-night, Mrs. Baker.) This young lady is Mrs. Trowbridge's sister." "Mrs. _Trowbridge's_ sister?" "Yas,--ole man Sewell's youngest gal. She's been up to St. Louis goin' t' school." He turned out the bracket lamp. Ole man Sewell's youngest gal! Shore enough, they _was_ another gal in that fambly. But she was just a kid when she was in Briggs the last time,--not more'n fourteen 'r fifteen, anyhow,--and I'd clean fergot about her. "Her name's Macie," goes on the parson. "Macie--Macie Sewell--Macie." I said it over to myself two 'r three times. I'd never liked the name Sewell afore. But now, somehow, along with _Her_ name, it sounded awful fine. "Macie--Macie Sewell." "Cupid, I wisht you'd walk home with me," says the parson. "I want t' ast you about somethin'." "Tickled t' death." Whilst he locked up, I waited outside. "M' son," I says to myself, "nothin' could be foolisher than fer you to git you' eye fixed on a belongin' of ole man Sewell's. Just paste _that_ in you' sunbonnet."