"They'll be music around this clearing to-morrow," said Milton, with a sigh; "wish I was at home this week." "But what'll become of Mr. Pill?" "Oh, he'll come out all right," Radbourn assured her, and Milton's clear tenor rang out as he drew Eileen closer to his side:-- "O silver moon, O silver moon, You set, you set too soon-- The morrow day is far away, The night is but begun." IV The news, grotesquely exaggerated, flew about the next day, and at night, though it was very cold and windy, the house was jammed to suffocation. On these lonely prairies life is so devoid of anything but work, dramatic entertainments are so few, and appetite so keen, that a temperature of twenty degrees below zero is no bar to a trip of ten miles. The protracted meeting was the only recreation for many of them. The gossip before and after service was a delight not to be lost, and this last sensation was dramatic enough to bring out old men and women who had not dared to go to church in winter for ten years. Long before seven o'clock, the schoolhouse blazed with light and buzzed with curious speech. Team after team drove up to the door, and as the drivers leaped out to receive the women, they said in low but eager tones to the bystanders:-- "Meeting begun yet?" "Nope!" "What kind of a time y' havin' over here, any way?" "A mighty solumn time," somebody would reply with a low laugh. By seven o'clock every inch of space was occupied; the air was frightful. The kerosene lamps gave off gas and smoke, the huge stove roared itself into an angry red on its jack-oak grubs, and still people crowded in at the door. Discussion waxed hot as the stove; two or three Universalists boldly attacked everybody who came their way. A tall man stood on a bench in the corner, and, thumping his Bible wildly with his fist, exclaimed, at the top of his voice:-- "There is _no_ hell at _all_! The Bible says the _wicked_ perish _utterly_. They are _consumed_ as _ashes_ when they die. They _perish_ as _dogs_!" "What kind o' docterin' is that?" asked a short man of Councill. "I d'know. It's ol' Sam Richards. Calls himself a Christian--Christadelphian 'r some new-fangled name." At last people began to inquire, "Well, ain't he comin'?" "Most time f'r the Elder to come, ain't it?" "Oh, I guess he's preparin' a sermon." John Jennings pushed anxiously to Daddy Brown. "Ain't the Elder comin'?" "I d'know. He didn't stay at my house." "He didn't?" "No. Thought he went home with you." "I ain't see 'im 't all. I'll ask Councill. Brother Councill, seen anything of the Elder?" "No. Didn't he go home with Bensen?" "I d'n know. I'll see." This was enough to start the news that "Pill had skipped." This the deacons denied, saying "he'd come or send word."