The congregation listened with the peaceful apathy peculiar to every small town congregation, when it is being mulled in the music of a hymn or the Word. This made the one exception the more noticeable. George William Cutter, Junior, looked and listened with a fervor which far surpassed anything that mere piety could do for a young man’s praying countenance. Fortunately he was seated far back in the publican and sinner section of the church. Thus he escaped the sophisticated attention of the elder saints toward the front. Never had he seen anything so lovely as this girl, the high look she had with the notes of this hymn, trembling as they came from her round, white throat or flaring into a perfect ecstasy of joy. When she had finally caroled out and sat down, he whispered under his breath, “Lord! Lord!” although he was not a religious man and meant nothing of the sort by this exclamation. The moment the benediction was pronounced, he stepped briskly from his place in that sparsely settled part of the church, met the slow-moving tattling tide of the congregation coming out as he hurried down the aisle like a good swimmer in sluggish waters until he reached Helen standing in the rear ranks with her mother. He bowed to Mrs. Adams. He hoped she remembered him--George Cutter, extending his hand. Oh, yes; she remembered him, she said mildly. No excitement in her mind over the recollection either! Did he think he had improved that much? She let him know that so far as she was concerned he was the same little George Cutter who used to live across the street and sometimes threw stones at her chickens. No matter if you are a very handsome young man, with athletic laurels hanging to your college coat tails, you cannot make a deep or flattering impression on a middle-aged woman who has a practical, computing mind and knows the romantic value of her beautiful daughter. If Helen had been homely, a little, starched mouse of a girl, who could not sing Jerusalem the Golden or anything else, she would have received George’s salutations more cordially. As it was, she did not have to be more than invincibly polite. All this she let him know with a flat look of her calm blue eye. It was a waste of excellent maternal diplomacy so far as he was concerned. He had already turned to Helen. He was almost speechless from having so much to say. She was entirely so for a moment. Then she gave him her hand and managed to say, “Howdy do, George,” in a tone a girl uses when the man owes her an apology. This accusative welcome dashed him. No smile! When he was himself the very pedestal of a smile. Good heavens, what had he done? He was conscious of being innocent; yet he felt guilty. Mrs. Adams paid no more attention to them. She had gone on, caught up with the Flitches and passed out. This was the only permission he received that he might, if he could, walk with Helen.