"And you will go to the meeting? and you will speak?" said Miss Butterworth, eagerly. "Yes!" and Mr. Snow looked straight into Miss Butterworth's tearful eyes, and smiled. "The Lord add His blessing, and to His name be all the praise! Good-night!" said Miss Butterworth, rising and making for the door. "Dear," said Mrs. Snow, springing and catching her by the arm, "don't you think you ought to put on something more? It's very chilly to-night." "Not a rag. I'm hot. I believe I should roast if I had on a feather more." "Wouldn't you like Mr. Snow to go home with you? He can go just as well as not," insisted Mrs. Snow. "Certainly, just as well as not," repeated the elder Miss Snow, followed by the second with: "as well as not," and by the third with: "and be glad to do it." "No--no--no--no"--to each. "I can get along better without him, and I don't mean to give him a chance to take back what he has said." Miss Butterworth ran down the steps, the whole family standing in the open door, with Mr. Snow, in his glasses, behind his good-natured, cackling flock, thoroughly glad that his protective services were deemed of so small value by the brave little tailoress. Then Miss Butterworth could see the moon and the stars. Then she could see how beautiful the night was. Then she became conscious of the everlasting roar of the cataracts, and of the wreaths of mist that they sent up into the crisp evening air. To the fear of anything in Sevenoaks, in the day or in the night, she was a stranger; so, with a light heart, talking and humming to herself, she went by the silent mill, the noisy dram-shops, and, with her benevolent spirit full of hope and purpose, reached the house where, in a humble hired room she had garnered all her treasures, including the bed and the linen which she had prepared years before for an event that never took place. "The Lord add His blessing, and to His name be all the praise," she said, as she extinguished the candle, laughing in spite of herself, to think how she had blurted out the prayer and the ascription in the face of Solomon Snow. "Well, he's a broken reed--a broken reed--but I hope Mrs. Snow will tie something to him--or starch him--or--something--to make him stand straight for once," and then she went to sleep, and dreamed of fighting with Robert Belcher all night. CHAPTER II. MR. BELCHER CARRIES HIS POINT AT THE TOWN-MEETING, AND THE POOR ARE KNOCKED DOWN TO THOMAS BUFFUM.