Sunday morning he took her to church and, for the first time, she sat, not in the Clark pew away back under the organ gallery, but down in front in the Townsend pew, where the cushions were covered with green plush and the hymn books bore the Townsend name in gold letters on their cover. Asaph Boadley, the sexton, did not greet her with a perfunctory “Hello.” His whispered “Good mornin’” was almost as reverential as his salute of her uncle. The march up the aisle was very trying--they were a trifle late and every eye in the meeting-house was, she knew, fixed upon her. But Captain Benjamin Snow himself leaned over the pew-back to point out to her the hymn they were about to sing. The dinner at the mansion was the best meal she had ever eaten and it was delightful--and wonderful--to have Miss Clark and Millard Fillmore there to eat it with her. Millard did not talk as much as usual, even he was a little awed by the occasion. He smoked a Townsend cigar after dinner and accepted another to smoke later on. And when he and his half-sister walked back to the cottage he strutted every step of the way. Esther accompanied her uncle to the “rally” on Tuesday evening. The Town Hall was packed, and again there was the same stir and whispering when they passed up the aisle between the lines of crowded settees. Men were in the majority, of course, but there were many women there also, and some girls. The men looked at Foster Townsend, but the feminine element centered its interest upon his niece, and Esther wondered if they noticed the new brooch which she was wearing. It was a present from her Uncle Foster, who had bought it from the local jeweler and watchmaker that afternoon. That brooch had been on display in the shop window almost a year--since before the previous Christmas, in fact--and the price upon the card above it was twenty dollars. She had seen it often and her admiration of its beauty was coupled with a vague resentment at the extravagance of its cost. Now it was hers--her very own. The Honorable Mooney’s speech was, it seemed to her, a noble effort. She had never before heard quite as many big words said so loudly or with such accompaniment of gesture. And she noticed that the orator appeared to be looking in their direction almost constantly as he said them. When it was over he hurried from the platform and pushed his way to their side. “Well, Cap’n Townsend,” he panted, eagerly, “I guess you’ll have to own that I kept my word. Came out strong enough for the cranberry bill this time, didn’t I?... How did it sound to you?” The crowd about them had stopped to listen. There was a hush. Mr. Mooney’s hand was extended, but Townsend did not remove his from his trousers’ pockets. “Sounded a good deal as if you had decided to be a bad influence,” he observed. “Yes, you came out--to-night. How you come out on election day is--well, I guess that depends on how sure you can make us that you’ll _stay_ out--after you get in again.”