"I forget, I'm sure. What was it? Oh, yes; he owns those print mills in Johnsonville--hideous place for Peg to live, that town!--and of late he's been awfully put out by the failure of his water-power. There's not much fall there at the best, and when the river's low--and it's low most all the time nowadays--he doesn't get power enough, so he says, to run a churn! He's been wondering what he could do about it, when doesn't he get a tip from some old Rube up here that, above this village, there's a whopping water-power--the Winthrop Branch. I know it--fished it lots of times. He didn't take any stock in it of course at first, but, just on the chance, he sent his engineer up here to look it over, and, by Jove, it's true. It'll furnish twice the power he's had in Johnsonville lately." "Seems queer," said the minister a little skeptically, "that nobody's ever thought of it before." "Well, _I_ said that, but Pete says that his engineer tells him that there are lots of such unknown water-powers in the East. Nobody but farmers live near 'em, you see." The minister was but mildly interested. "I thought the cost of transmitting power was so great it didn't pay for any water-force but Niagara." "He isn't going to carry the power to Johnsonville. He's going to bring his mill here. A lot of his operators come from around here and most of 'em have kept their old homes, so there won't be any trouble about keeping his help. Besides, it seems the old hayseed who wrote him about it owned the land, and offered him land, water-power, right of way--anything!--free, just to 'help the town' by getting the mill up here. That bespeaks the materialistic Yankee, doesn't it?--to want to spoil a quiet little Paradise like this village with a lot of greasy mill-hands." The minister looked at his watch. "I think I'll begin the service now. There's no use waiting for a congregation to turn up." He felt in one pocket after the other with increasing irritation. "Pshaw! I've left my eyeglasses out in the car." The two disappeared, leaving the vestibule echoing and empty. For a moment the two women did not speak. Then Miss Molly cast herself upon her old friend's bosom. "They're coming back!" she cried. "Annie and her children!" Miss Abigail stared over her head. "They are _all_ coming back," she said, "and--we are ready for them. The library's ready--the school is ready--" she got up and opened the door into the great, cold, lofty church, "and--" They looked in silence at the empty pews. "Next Christmas!" said Miss Molly. "Next Christmas--" The young minister bustled in, announcing as he came, "We will open the service by singing hymn number forty-nine." He sat down before the little old organ and struck a resonant chord. "Oh, come, all ye faithful!"