The camp-ground was in a level grove of pine-trees, between two steep hills.  A space had been cleared in the centre of the grove and a long shed built.  It was open at the sides and at one end, and filled with benches without backs.  Straw was strewn in the aisles and between the benches.  There was a platform at the closed end of the shed, and on it sat a number of preachers and elders of the church.

The crowd was large.  Westerfelt stood for a moment in the phalanx of men surrounding the shed, and surreptitiously eyed Bates and Harriet.  Her back was towards him as she stood, her cloak on her arm, still politely watching her escort’s movements.  She looked so pretty, and there was such appealing grace in her posture.  He saw Bates join her and take her arm, and then he watched them no longer.  He knew they were coming, and he went in at the end of the shed and found a seat near the centre on the left.  He saw Luke Bradley drive up and help his wife and Mrs. Dawson to alight, then Frank Hansard and Jennie Wynn came in and sat on the bench just behind him.  Jennie was laughing in her handkerchief.

“There is old Mis’ Henshaw,” she whispered to Frank; “she’s the’r regular stan’-by at shouting.  When they begin to call up mourners she commences to clap ‘er hands an’ shout, then the rest get over their bashfulness an’ the fun begins.  We may see a lot of excitement if the town-people don’t come and freeze ’em out with their finery an’ stiff ways.”

“You ort ter go up yorese’f, Jen,” replied Frank; “you need it ef anybody does.”

“I went up once,” she laughed; “but Mary Trumbull pinched me an’ tol’ me to look at ol’ Mis’ Warlick’s dress, right in front of us.  It had split wide open between the shoulders an’ all down the back.  I thought I’d die laughin’.  They all believed I was cryin’, and I got hugged by a whole string of exhorters.”

“We’d better lie low,” cautioned Frank; “last year, these camp-ground folks had some town-people indicted for disturbin’ public worship, an’ they had a lots o’ trouble at court.  They say they’ve determined to break up the fun that goes on here.”

Westerfelt saw Luke Bradley and his party come in and sit down near the centre of the shed.  He caught Mrs. Dawson’s glance, but she quickly looked away.  She had not forgiven him; that fact lay embedded in the sallow hardness of her face.

A moment later he forgot that Mrs. Dawson was in existence, for Harriet and Bates were coming in.  Bates still clutched her arm and carried her cloak thrown over his shoulder.  Westerfelt looked straight ahead at the platform, but he heard their feet rustling in the straw, and knew that they had sat down on the bench behind Hansard and Jennie.  He overheard Bates, who could not possibly speak in a whisper, ask her in a mumbling bass voice if she wanted her cloak, and he saw the shadows of the couple on the ground as she stood up and allowed him to help her put it on.