The young theologian appeared a little before the appointed time, brought in the motor car of a wealthy friend of his own age.  They were trying to make a record winter trip, and were impatient at the delay occasioned by the service.  When they saw that two shabby old women constituted the congregation, they laughed as they stood warming their hands by the stove and waiting for the hour.  They ignored the two women, chatting lightly of their own affairs.  It seemed that they were on their way to a winter house party to which the young clergyman-to-be was invited on account of his fine voice—­an operetta by amateurs being one of the gayeties to which they looked forward.

Miss Abigail and Miss Molly were silent in their rusty black, Miss Molly’s soft eyes red with restrained tears, Miss Abigail’s face like a flint.

“A pretty place, this village is,” said the motorist to the minister.  “I have visited the Ellerys here.  Really charming in summer time—­so utterly deserted and peaceful.”  He looked out of the window speculatively.  “Rather odd we should be passing through it to-day.  There’s been a lot of talk about it in our family lately.”

“How so?” asked the minister, beginning cautiously to unwind the wrapping from around his throat.

“Why, my brother-in-law—­Peg’s husband—­don’t you remember, the one who sang so fearfully flat in——­” He was off on a reminiscence over which both men laughed loudly.

Finally, “But what did you start to tell me about him?” asked the minister.

“I forget, I’m sure.  What was it?  Oh, yes; he owns those print mills in Johnsonville—­hideous place for Peg to live, that town!—­and of late he’s been awfully put out by the failure of his water-power.  There’s not much fall there at the best, and when the river’s low—­and it’s low most all the time nowadays—­he doesn’t get power enough, so he says, to run a churn!  He’s been wondering what he could do about it, when doesn’t he get a tip from some old Rube up here that, above this village, there’s a whopping water-power—­the Winthrop Branch.  I know it—­fished it lots of times.  He didn’t take any stock in it of course at first, but, just on the chance, he sent his engineer up here to look it over, and, by Jove, it’s true.  It’ll furnish twice the power he’s had in Johnsonville lately.”

“Seems queer,” said the minister a little skeptically, “that nobody’s ever thought of it before.”

“Well, I said that, but Pete says that his engineer tells him that there are lots of such unknown water-powers in the East.  Nobody but farmers live near ’em, you see.”

The minister was but mildly interested.  “I thought the cost of transmitting power was so great it didn’t pay for any water-force but Niagara.”