"'An' the church is goin' from bad to worse,' he complained. 'The average attendance is about forty-seven, an' it used to be between five an' six hundred, an' we are all taxed to death to keep it goin'. I have to pay three hundred a year for the privilege o' gittin' mad every Sunday. Two or three of us have got after him an' made him promise to do better. Some awful free-minded folks have crept into the church, an' the fact is, we need their money,' Deacon Joe went on. 'What the minister ought to do is stick to the old doctrines that are safe an' sound. 'St'id o' that he's tryin' to sail 'twixt rock an' reef.' "'Between Scylla and Charybdis,' I suggested. "'Between Silly an' what?' the old man asked, as if in doubt of my meaning. "We were interrupted by the arrival of the Reverend Robert with Marie and her mother, in his handsome landaulet. Marie asked me to go with her to gather wild flowers in a bit of woodland not far away. I went, and soon saw her purpose. She had had the 'jolliest, cutest letter from Harry' that she had ever read, and seemed to be in doubt as to whether she ought to let him write to her. "'Has your grandfather forbidden it?' I asked. "'No.' "'Then it's up to you,' I said. "'Do you think he cares for me?' "'I should think him a fool if he didn't,' I said, looking down into her lovely dark eyes. "'But do you really and truly think that he cares for me?' she insisted. "'I suspect that he does.' "'Why?' "'A lawyer must not betray a confidence.' "'Do you like him?' "'Wait until his uneducation is completed, and I'll tell you. I am beginning to have hope for Harry.' "'I'm sorry grandpapa is so hateful!' she exclaimed, with a sigh. "I stood up for the old man and asked: "'Do you like the Reverend Robert?' "'Very much! He's so good-looking, and has such beautiful thoughts! Have you heard him preach?' "'No.' "'We think his sermons are fine. Everybody likes them but grandpapa. He wants noise, you know--lung power and old theology. I hate it!' "'He doesn't take to Robert?' "'No; he calls him a calf. Nobody is good enough for me, you know. He'd like me to marry some man with a hoe, who would take me to church and Sunday school every sabbath morning, and for a walk to the cemetery in the afternoon, and down to the prayer-meeting every Wednesday night, and on a journey from Genesis to Revelations once a year. It's too much to expect of a human being. Then the hoes are in the hands of Poles, Slavs, and Italians. So what am I to do?' "'Well, you are young--you can afford to wait a while,' I said. "'But not until I am old and all withered up. I am going to marry the man I love within a year or so, if he has the good sense to ask me. Don't you ever go to church?' "'No,' I said. "'Why not?'