“Yes,” said Mrs. Wincoop, “I want to bring up the name of Patience Appleby. I reckon you all know Patience Appleby. She was born here, and she’s always lived here. There’s them that says she done wrong onct, but I guess she’s about atoned up for that—if any mortal living has. I’ve know her fifteen year, and I don’t know any better behaving woman anywheres. She never talks about anybody”—her eyes went to Mrs. Willis’s rigid back—“and she never complains. She’s alone and poor, and all crippled up with the rheumatiz. She wants to join church and live a Christian life, and I, fer one, am in favor o’ us a-holding out our hand to her and helping her up.” “Amen!” shrilled out the minister on one of his upper notes. There was a general rustle of commendation—whispers back and forth, noddings of heads, and many encouraging glances directed toward sister Wincoop. But of a sudden silence fell upon the small assembly. Mrs. Willis had arisen. Her expression was grim and uncompromising. At that moment sister Shidler’s baby choked in its sleep, and cried so loudly and so gaspingly that every one turned to look at it. In the momentary confusion Mr. Willis caught hold of his wife’s dress and tried to pull her down; but the unfortunate man only succeeded in ripping a handful of gathers from the band. Mrs. Willis looked down at him from her thin height. “You let my gethers be,” she said, fiercely. “You might of knew you’d tear ’em, a-taking holt of ’em that way!” Then quiet was restored and the wandering eyes came back to Mrs. Willis. “Brothers and sisters,” she said, “it ain’t becoming in me to remind you all what Mr. Willis and me have done fer this church. It ain’t becoming in me to remind you about the organ, and the new bell, and the carpet fer the aisles—let alone our paying twenty dollars more a year than any other member. I say it ain’t becoming in me, and I never ’d mention it if it wa’n’t that I don’t feel like having Patience Appleby in this church. If she does come in, _I_ go out.” A tremor passed through the meeting. The minister turned pale and stroked his meagre whiskers nervously. He was a worthy man, and he believed in saving souls. He had prayed and plead with Patience to persuade her to unite with the church, but he had not felt the faintest presentiment that he was quarreling with his own bread and butter in so doing. One soul scarcely balances a consideration of that kind—especially when a minister has six children and a wife with a chronic disinclination to do anything but look pretty and read papers at clubs and things. It was small wonder that he turned pale.