“I wish Robert Belcher was hanged,” said Mrs. Snow, spitefully.

“Amen! and my name is Butterworth,” responded that lady, making sure that there should be no mistake as to the responsibility for the utterance.

“Why, mother!” exclaimed the three hisses Snow, in wonder.

“And drawn and quartered!” added Mrs. Snow, emphatically.

“Amen, again!” responded Miss Butterworth.

“Mrs. Snow! my dear!  You forget that you are a Christian pastor’s wife, and that there is a stranger present.”

“No, that is just what I don’t forget,” said Mrs. Snow.  “I see a Christian pastor afraid of a man of the world, who cares no more about Christianity than he does about a pair of old shoes, and who patronizes it for the sake of shutting its mouth against him.  It makes me angry, and makes me wish I were a man; and you ought to go to that meeting to-morrow, as a Christian pastor, and put down this shame and wickedness.  You have influence, if you will use it.  All the people want is a leader, and some one to tell them the truth.”

“Yes, father, I’m sure you have a great deal of influence,” said the elder Miss Snow.

“A great deal of influence,” responded the next in years.

“Yes, indeed,” echoed the youngest.

Mr. Snow established the bridge again, by bringing his fingers together,—­whether to keep out the flattery that thus came like a subtle balm to his heart, or to keep in the self-complacency which had been engendered, was not apparent.

He smiled, looking benevolently out upon the group, and said:  “Oh, you women are so hasty, so hasty, so hasty!  I had not said that I would not interfere.  Indeed, I had pretty much made up my mind to do so.  But I wanted you in advance to see things as they air.  It may be that something can be done, and it certainly will be a great satisfaction to me if I can be the humble instrument for the accomplishment of a reform.”

“And you will go to the meeting? and you will speak?” said Miss Butterworth, eagerly.

“Yes!” and Mr. Snow looked straight into Miss Butterworth’s tearful eyes, and smiled.

“The Lord add His blessing, and to His name be all the praise!  Good-night!” said Miss Butterworth, rising and making for the door.

“Dear,” said Mrs. Snow, springing and catching her by the arm, “don’t you think you ought to put on something more?  It’s very chilly to-night.”

“Not a rag.  I’m hot.  I believe I should roast if I had on a feather more.”

“Wouldn’t you like Mr. Snow to go home with you?  He can go just as well as not,” insisted Mrs. Snow.

“Certainly, just as well as not,” repeated the elder Miss Snow, followed by the second with:  “as well as not,” and by the third with:  “and be glad to do it.”

“No—­no—­no—­no”—­to each.  “I can get along better without him, and I don’t mean to give him a chance to take back what he has said.”