“Exactly,” says I, nodding. “And your husband--why is he in our special church?” “My dear Calliope,” says she, regal, “he was _born_ in it. His father was minister of it----” “Exactly,” I says again. “Then there’s Mame Holcomb, her mother sung in our choir, so she joined ours. And Mis’ Toplady, they lived within half a mile of ours out in the country, and the other churches were on the other side of the hill. So they joined ours. And the Sykeses, they joined ours when they lived in Kingsford, because there wasn’t any other denomination there. But the rest of the congregation, I don’t happen to know what their reasons was. I suppose they was equally spiritual.” The minister’s wife bent over toward me. “Calliope Marsh,” says she, “you talk like an atheist.” “Never mind me,” I says. “Go on about the plan. Everybody is to be got into our church for a few Sundays, as I understand it. What you going to give them when you get them there?” She looked at me kind of horror-struck. “Calliope,” says she, “what has come over you? The Reverend is going to preach, of course.” “About what?” says I, grim. “Describin’ the temple, and telling how many courts it had? Or giving us a little something exegitical--whatever that means?” For a minute I thought she was going to cry, and I melted myself. If I hadn’t been preserving all the morning, I wouldn’t never have spoke so frank. “Honest,” I says, “I don’t know what exegitical does mean, but I didn’t intend it insulting. But tell me this--just as truthful as if you wasn’t a minister’s wife: Do you see any living, human thing in our church service here in the village that would make a living, human young folk really want to go to it?” “They’d ought to want to go to it,” says she. “Never mind what they’d ought to want,” says I, “though I ain’t so clear they’d ought to want it, myself. Just as truthful as if you wasn’t a minister’s wife--do you?” “No,” says she, “but----” “Now,” I says, “you’ve said it. And what is true for young is often true for old. If you want to meet that, I’m ready to help you. But if you just want to fill our church up full of folks, I don’t care whether it’s full or not--not that way.” “Well,” she says, “I’m sure I only meant what was for the best in my husband’s work----” I put out my hand to her. All of a sudden, I saw her as she was, doing her level best inside the four walls of her--and I says to myself that I’d been a brute and, though I was glad of it, I’d make up for it by getting after the thing laying there underneath all the words.