"We are mortals and must think as mortals. If we conceive of God, we can conceive of Him only as in human form. An' I love to think that the blessed an' brave an' sweet Christ looked like Cap'n Tom looked in the early dawn of that morning when he come an' offered himself,--captain that he was--to be shot, if need be, in my place--so gran', so gentle, so brave, so forgivin', so like a captain--so like God." His voice had dropped lower and lower still. It died away in a sobbing murmur, as a deep stream purls and its echo dies in a deeper eddy. "It was his church an' I jined it. This was his coat, an' so, let us pray." CHAPTER VII MARGARET ADAMS There passed out of the church, after the service, a woman leading a boy of twelve. He was a handsome lad with a proud and independent way about him. He carried his head up and there was that calmness that showed good blood. There was even a haughtiness which was pathetic, knowing as the village did the story of his life. The woman herself was of middle age, with neat, well-fitting clothes, which, in the smallest arrangement of pattern and make-up, bespoke a natural refinement. Her's was a sweet face, with dark eyes, and in their depths lay the shadow of resignation. Throughout the sermon she had not taken her eyes off the old man in the pulpit, and so interested was she, and so earnestly did she drink in all he said, that any one noticing could tell that, to her, the plain old man in the pulpit was more than a pastor. She sat off by herself. Not one of them in all Cottontown would come near her. "Our virtue is all we po' fo'ks has got--if we lose that we ain't got nothin' lef'," Mrs. Banks of grass-widow fame had once said, and saying it had expressed Cottontown's opinion. Mrs. Banks was very severe when the question of woman's purity was up. She was the fastest woman at the loom in all Cottontown. She was quick, with a bright, deep-seeing eye. She had been pretty--but now at forty-five she was angular and coarse-looking, with a sharp tongue. The Bishop had smiled when he heard her say it, and then he looked at Margaret Adams sitting in the corner with her boy. In saying it, Mrs. Banks had elevated her nose as she looked in the direction where sat the Magdalene. The old man smiled, because he of all others knew the past history of Mrs. Banks, the mistress of the loom. He replied quietly: "Well, I dun'no--the best thing that can be said of any of us in general is, that up to date, it ain't recorded that the Almighty has appinted any one of us, on account of our supreme purity, to act as chief stoner of the Universe. Mighty few of us, even, has any license to throw pebbles." Of all his congregation there was no more devoted member than Margaret Adams--"an' as far as I kno'," the old man had often said, "if there is an angel on earth, it is that same little woman."