The Deacon _had_ a heart, and he knew the nature of self-respect as well as men generally. His mind ran entirely outside of texts for a few minutes, and then, with a sigh for the probable expense, he remarked: “Reckon Flite’s notion was right, after all—ther’ ort to be a workin’-man’s chapel.” “Ort?” responded Hay; “who d’ye s’pose ’d go to it? [Illustration] Nobody? Ye can rent us second-class houses, an’ sell us second-hand clothin’, and the cheapest cuts o’ meat, but when it comes to cheap religion—nobody knows its value better ’n we do. We don’t want to go into yer parlors on carpets and furniture we don’t know how to use, an’ we don’t expect to be asked into society where our talk an’ manners might make some better eddicated people laugh. But when it comes to religion—God knows nobody needs an’ deserves the very best article more ’n _we_ do.” The Deacon was a reasonable man, and being old, was beginning to try to look fairly at matters upon which he expected soon to be very thoroughly examined. The indignant protest of the carpenter had, he feared, a great deal of reason, and yet—God’s people deserved to hold their position, if, as usual, the argument ended where it began. So he asked, rather triumphantly: “What _is_ to be done, then?” “Reform God’s people themselves,” replied the carpenter, to the horror of the pious old man. “When the right hand of fellowship is reached out to the front, instead of stuck behind the back when a poor man comes along, there’ll be plenty that’ll be glad to take it. Reform yer own people, Deac’n. ’Fore yer pick out of our eyes the motes we’ll be glad enough to get rid of, ye can get a fine lot of heavy lumber out of yer own.” Soldiers of the Cross, no more than any other soldiers, should stand still and be peppered when unable to reply; at least so thought the Deacon, and he prudently withdrew. Reform God’s people themselves! The Deacon was too old a boy to tell tales out of school, but he knew well enough there was room for reform. Of course there was—weren’t we all poor sinners?—when we would do good wasn’t evil ever present with us?—what business had other sinners to complain, when they wern’t, at least, any better? Besides, suppose he were to try to reform the ways of Brother Graves and Deacon Struggs and others he had in his mind—would they rest until they had attempted to reform _him_? And who was to know just what quantity and quality of reform was necessary? “Be not carried about with divers and strange doctrines.” The matter was too great for his comprehension, so he obeyed the injunction, “Commit thy way unto the Lord.”