On Christmas Day In The Evening | Page 6

figure of a young man who
stood before him, "that a fellow who's just pulled off the sort of service
we know you had at St. John's this morning, wouldn't consider this one
much of a stunt."
Sewall smiled. "Somehow this strikes me as the bigger one," said he.
"The wisest of my old professors used to say that the further you got
into the country the less it mattered about your clothes but the more

about your sermon. I've been wondering, all the way up, if I knew
enough to preach that sermon. Isn't there any minister in town, not even
a visiting one?"
"Not a one. You can't get out of it, Billy Sewall, if you have got an
attack of stage-fright--which we don't believe."
"There is one minister," Nan admitted. "But I'd forgotten all about him,
till Father mentioned him last night. But he doesn't really count at all.
He's old--very old--and infirm."
"Superannuated, they call it," added Sam Burnett. "Poor old chap. I've
seen him--I met him at the post-office this morning. He has a peaceful
face. He's a good man. He must have been a strong one--in his time."
"Had he anything to do with the church trouble?" Sewall demanded, his
keen brown eyes eager.
Nan and Guy laughed.
"Old 'Elder Blake'?--not except as he was on his knees, alone at home,
praying for the fighters--both sides," was Guy's explanation. "So Father
says, and nobody knows better what side people were on."
"If I can get hold of a man whose part in the quarrel was praying for
both sides, I'm off to find him," said Sewall, decidedly. He picked up
his hat as he spoke. "Tell me where he lives, please."
"Billy!" His sister Margaret's voice was anxious. "Are you sure you'd
better? Perhaps it would be kind to ask him to make a prayer. But you
won't----"
"You won't ask him to preach the sermon, Billy Sewall--promise us
that," cried Guy. "An old man in his dotage!"
Sewall smiled again, starting toward the door. Somehow he did not
look like the sort of fellow who could be easily swayed from an
intention once he had formed it--or be forced to make promises until he

was ready. "You've got me up here," said he, "now you'll have to take
the consequences. Where did you say 'Elder Blake' lives?"
And he departed. Those left behind stared at one another, in dismay.
"Keep cool," advised Sam Burnett. "He wants the old man's
advice--that's all. I don't blame him. He wants to understand the
situation thoroughly. Nothing like putting your head into a thing before
you put your foot in. It saves complications. Sewall's head's level--trust
him."
[Illustration: "Billy!" His sister Margaret's voice was anxious. "Are you
sure you'd better?"]

V
"I can't--" said a very old man with a peaceful face--now wearing a
somewhat startled expression-- "I can't quite believe you are serious,
Mr. Sewall. The people are all expecting you--they will come out to
hear you. I have not preached for--" he hesitated-- "for many years. I
will not say that it would not be--a happiness. If I thought I were fit.
But----"
"If I were half as fit," answered Sewall, gently, "I should be very proud.
But I'm--why, I'm barely seasoned, yet. I'm liable to warp, if I'm
exposed to the weather. But you--with all the benefit of your long
experience--you're the sort of timber that needs to be built into this
strange Christmas service. I hadn't thought much about it, Mr. Blake,
till I was on my way here. I accepted the invitation too readily. But
when I did begin to think, I felt the need of help. I believe you can give
it. It's a critical situation. You know these people, root and branch. I
may say the wrong thing. You will know how to say the right one."
"If I should consent," the other man said, after a silence during which,
with bent white head, he studied the matter, "what would be your part?
Should you attempt--" he glanced at the clerical dress of his caller-- "to
carry through the service of your--Church?"

Sewall's face, which had been grave, relaxed. "No, Mr. Blake," said he.
"It wouldn't be possible, and it wouldn't be--suitable. This is a
community which would probably prefer any other service, and it
should have its preference respected. A simple form, as nearly as
possible like what it has been used to, will be best--don't you think so?
I believe there is to be considerable music. I will read the Story of the
Birth, and will try to make a prayer. The rest I will leave to you."
"And Him," added the old man.
"And Him," agreed the young man, reverently. Then a bright smile
broke over his face, and