“O Mis’ Kinney, I recollect that sermon ’s if ’twas only yesterday,” said Deacon Swift.  “The hull parish was talkin’ on’t all the week; ye couldn’t have picked out one they’d be so glad to hear; but dear me! how I’m ever goin’ to read it in any kind o’ decent way, I don’t know; I never was a reader, anyhow, ‘n’ now I’ve lost my front teeth, some words does pester me to git out.”

This opened the way for Draxy.  Nearly all night she had lain awake, thinking how terrible it would be to her to hear her husband’s beloved words indistinctly and ineffectively read by Deacon Swift’s cracked and feeble voice.  Almost she regretted having given her consent.  At last the thought flashed into her mind, “Why should I not read it myself?  I know I could be heard in every corner of that little church.”  The more she thought of it, the more she longed to do it, and the less she shrank from the idea of facing the congregation.

“‘It’s only just like a big family of children,’ Seth always used to say, ’and I’m sure I feel as if they were mine now, as much as ever they were his.  I wish I dared do it.  I do believe Seth would like it,’ and Draxy fell asleep comforted by the thought.  Before breakfast she consulted her father, and he approved it warmly.

“I believe your mission isn’t done yet, daughter, to these people of your husband’s.  The more you speak to ’em the better.  It’ll be jest like his voice speaking from heaven to ’em,” said Reuben, “an’ I shouldn’t wonder if keepin’ Elder Williams away was all the Lord’s doin’, as the blessed saint used to say.”

Reuben’s approval was all that Draxy needed to strengthen her impulse, and before Deacon Swift arrived her only perplexity was as to the best way of making the proposition to him.  All this difficulty he had himself smoothed away by his first words.

“Yes, I know, Deacon Swift,” she said.  “I’ve been thinking that perhaps it would tire you to read for so long a time in a loud voice; and besides, Mr. Kinney’s handwriting is very hard to read.”

Draxy paused and looked sympathizingly in the deacon’s face.  The mention of the illegible writing distressed the poor man still more.  He took the sermon from her hand and glanced nervously at the first page.

“Oh my!  Mis’ Kinney,” he exclaimed, “I can’t make out half the words.”

“Can’t you?” said Draxy, gently.  “It is all as plain as print to me, I know it so well.  But there are some abbreviations Mr. Kinney always used.  I will explain them to you.  Perhaps that will make it easier.”

“O Mis’ Kinney, Mis’ Kinney!  I can’t never do it in the world,” burst out the poor deacon.  “O Mis’ Kinney, why can’t you read it to the folks?  They’d all like it, I know they would.”

“Do you really think so, Mr. Swift?” replied Draxy; and then, with a little twinge of conscience, added immediately, “I have been thinking of that very thing myself, that perhaps, if it wouldn’t seem strange to the people, that would be the best way, because I know the handwriting so well, and it really is very hard for a stranger to read.”