On Christmas Day In The Evening | Page 6

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 he held out his hand. "I'm no end grateful to you, sir," he said, a certain attractive boyishness of manner suddenly coming uppermost and putting to flight the dignity which was at times a heavier weight than he could carry. "No end. Don't you remember how it used to be, when you first went into the work, and tackled a job now and then that seemed too big for you? Then you caught sight of a pair of shoulders that looked to you broader than yours--the muscles developed by years of exercise--and you were pretty thankful to shift the load on to them? You didn't want to shirk--Heaven forbid!--but you just felt