That Thursday night came, and with it also came to 'Gene's troubled mind the sudden inspiration to go before the young minister and lay bare his intentions, asking his help and advice.

The "neighbors" timed their arrival at the parson's home so thoughtfully that darkness had spread over the land long before the first arrival drew up and hitched his team in the barn-lot. By half-past eight o'clock there were twenty immaculate souls in the parlor and sitting room of the parsonage, and Mrs. Ed. Harbaugh, the president of the Woman's Home Missionary Society, was called upon to state the object of the meeting, Mr. Marks observing that he preferred to sit as a court of appeals. A stiffer-backed gathering of human beings never a.s.sembled under the banner of the Almighty, ready to do battle for Christianity. There was saintly courage in every face and there was determination in every glance of apprehension that greeted the creaking of a door or the nicker of a horse. When Jim Hardesty, while trying to hitch his horse to a fence post in a dark corner of the barn-lot, exploded as follows: "Whoa, d.a.m.n ye!" everybody shivered, and Mrs. Bolton said she wondered "how 'Gene Crawley heerd about the meetin'." Mr. Hardesty never could understand why his entrance a few minutes later was the signal for such joy.

"It's our bounding duty," said Mrs. Harbaugh in conclusion, "to set right down as a committee an' directate a letter to Jud Sherrod, tellin' him jest how things is bein' kerried on over to his house.

That pore feller is off yander in Europe or Paris some'ere's, doin' his best to git ahead in the world, an' his wife is back here cuttin' up as if old Satan hisself had got into her."

"But how air we to git a letter to Jed ef we don't know where he's at?"

demanded Mr. Hardesty. "I been workin' fer the gover'ment long enough to know that you cain't git a letter to a feller 'nless it's properly addressed. Now, who knows where he's to be found?" The speaker looked very wise and important. The truth is, he was inclined to favor Justine, but his wife's stand in the controversy made it imperative for him to express other views.

"I sh'd think a postal card would catch him at Europe," volunteered Ezekiel Craig. Parson Marks stared at the speaker.

"But Europe is not a city, Mr. Craig," he said.

"No, of course not," exclaimed Mr. Hardesty, contemptuously. "It's an umpire."

"Well, I didn't know," murmured Mr. Craig, and his voice was not heard again until he said good-night to the door post when he left the parson's house.

"Mebby somebody could find out his address from Justine," said Mrs.

Grimes. "Needn't let on what it's fer, y' see, an' thataway we couldn't take no chances on wastin' a stamp."

"I kin ast her," said Mrs. Bolton. "I'm goin' over to her house to-morry to see if I c'n borry a couple pounds o' sugar. Dear me, I never did have sitch luck with watermillon preserves as I'm havin' this year. Silas, I leave it to you if I ain't sp'iled more----"

"We ain't yere to talk about preserves, Liz, so shet up," interrupted her better half sourly.

"That's right, Si. I wish to gosh I could shet mine up like that,"

said Mr. Hardesty, enviously.

"Why, Jim Hardesty, you ain't sayin' that I talk too much," cried his wife, indignantly.

"You don't say 'leven words a day, my dove," said he, arising and bowing so low that his suspenders creaked threateningly. Then he winked broadly at the a.s.semblage, and the women t.i.ttered, whereupon Mrs. Hardesty glared at them greenly.

"We are getting away from the subject, please," came the mild reproof of the pastor.

"How fer had we got?" demanded Deacon Bossman.

"We hain't got anywheres yet," said Mrs. Harbaugh. "That's what we're talkin' about, deacon."

"Hain't found out where Jud's at yet?"

"Have you been asleep?" demanded the chairman.

"I'd like to know how in thund--I mean, how in tarnation--er--how in the world I could go to sleep with all you women talkin' to onct about dresses an' so forth----"

"We ain't mentioned dress to-night," snorted the chairman. "You better 'tend to----"

"Come, come; we must get along with the business," remonstrated the pastor.

"I want to make a motion," said the postmaster, rising impressively.

When he had secured the attention of the crowd he walked solemnly to the door, opened it and expectorated upon the porch. Then, wiping his lips with the back of his hairy hand, he returned to his position in the circle.

"I move you, Mr. Cheerman--er, Mrs. Cheerman, beggin' your excuse--that we app'int a committee to see how much truth they is in these reports afore we go to puttin' our foot--er, properly speakin'--our feets in it too da--too extry deep." There was a dead silence and Jim looked serenely up at the right-hand corner of the parson's clothes-press, expecting the wrath of the virtuous to burst about him at any moment.

"I don't think we need any more committee than our own eyes, Jim," said his wife, feeling her way.

"Well, then, if that's the case, I move you we app'int a committee of hearts to work j'intly with the eyes," said James, soberly, still looking at the closet.

"I make an amendment," said Mrs. Bolton sharply. "Mrs. Cheerman, I amend that we app'int a committee of three to go to Justine an' tell her this thing's got to stop an'----"

"It seems to me----" began Mr. Marks.

"I think it'd be best if we'd write to her an' sign no name," said Mrs.

Grimes.

"That's a good idy," mused Mr. Bolton.

"Mrs. Cheerman, I withdraw my motion," said Hardesty. "I move you now that we app'int a committee composed of Mr. Bolton, Mr. Craig an' Mr.

Grimes to go an' notify 'Gene Crawley 'nstead of her."

A shiver swept through the room. The men gasped and the perspiration started on their foreheads. Their wives moved a bit closer to them and looked appealingly toward the chairman. Postmaster Hardesty had considerable difficulty in suppressing a chuckle.

"What's the use seein' 'Gene?" stammered Martin Grimes. "He ain't to be reasoned with 't all, Jim, an' you know it."

"Well, you might try it," insisted Jim.

"I think Justine's the most likely to be sensible," said Bolton.

"Course, she'd cry an' take on turrible, while ef you went to 'Gene he might do somethin' else, so I guess it'd be best to have a committee go over an' tell her fust. She could break it gentle-like to 'Gene, y'

see," agreed Hardesty, reflectively. "'N'en he could do jest as he liked."

"Come to think of it," said Grimes, "I reckon it's best to write to Jud."

"Then I'll move you, Mrs. Chairman, that the secretary address a letter to Mr. Sherrod, setting forth the facts as they exist," said Pastor Marks.

"I can't do it alone," cried meek little Miss Cunningham, the school teacher.

"We c'n all help," said Grimes, mightily relieved. "Git out yer writin' paper."

The secretary nervously prepared to write the letter. Her pen scratched and every eye was glued on the holder as it wobbled vigorously above her knuckles.

"I've got this far: 'Judley Sherrod, Esq., Dear Sir,'" she said. "What next?"

"His name is Dudley," corrected the parson.

"Oh," murmured the secretary, blushing. Then she wrote it all over again on another piece of paper.

"You might say something like this," said Mr. Marks, thoughtfully.

"'It is with pain that we feel called upon to acquaint you with the state of affairs in your home.' Have you written that?"

"'Fate of astairs in your home,'" read Miss Cunningham. Mr. Hardesty was looking over her shoulder, and at times his unconscious chin-whiskers tickled her rosy ear.