The singing over, the worshipers sat down. Captain Eben took a figured handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead. The thin, nearsighted young woman who had been humped over the keyboard of the melodeon, straightened up. The worshipers relaxed a little and began to look about. Then the captain adjusted his spectacles and opened a Bible, which he took from the table beside him. Clearing his throat, he announced that he would read from the Word, tenth chapter of Jeremiah: “'Thus saith the Lord. Learn not the way of the heathen, and be not dismayed at the signs of heaven; for the heathen are dismayed at them. “'For the customs of the people are vain: for one cutteth a tree out of the forest, the work of the hands of the workmen, with the ax.'” He read in a measured singsong, stopping occasionally to hold the book in a better light and peering at the fine print through his spectacles. And as he read, there was a sudden rustle on one of the back benches. A child had turned, stared, and pulled at its mother's sleeve. The rustle grew and spread. Captain Eben drawled on to the twentieth verse: “'My tabernacle is spoiled and all my cords are broken: my children are gone forth from me, and they are not: there is none to stretch forth my tent any more, and to set up my curtains! “'For the pastors are become brutish and have not sought the Lord: therefore they shall not prosper, and--'” “A-MEN!” The shout came from the second bench from the front, where Ezekiel Bassett, clam digger and fervent religionist, was always to be found on meeting nights. Ezekiel was the father of Susannah B. Bassett, “Sukey B.” for short, who played the melodeon. He had been, by successive seizures, a Seventh Day Baptist, a Second Adventist, a Millerite, a Regular, and was now the most energetic of Come-Outers. Later he was to become a Spiritualist and preside at table-tipping seances. Ezekiel's amen was so sudden and emphatic that it startled the reader into looking up. Instead of the faces of his congregation, he found himself treated to a view of their back hair. Nearly every head was turned toward the rear corner of the room, there was a buzz of whispering and, in front, many men and women were standing up to look. Captain Eben was scandalized. “Well!” he exclaimed. “Is this a prayer meetin' or--or--what? Brethren and sisters, I must say--” Ezekiel Bassett stepped forward and whispered in his ear. The captain's expression of righteous indignation changed to one of blank astonishment. He, too, gazed at the dark corner. Then his lips tightened and he rapped smartly on the table. “Brethren and sisters,” he thundered, in the voice which, of old, had enforced obedience aboard his coasting schooner, “remember this is the house of the Lord. Be reverent!” He waited until every eye had swung about to meet his. Then he regarded his abashed but excited hearers with a steady and prolonged stare. “My friends,” he said, “let us bow in prayer.”