“You, wavering?” demanded David.  “If no one ever wavered any harder than you do, Daniels, there wouldn’t be much of a job for the preachers.  And you say for me to let Carol go with Dick?  What are you thinking of?  I tell you when any one goes gadding with Carol, I am the man.”  Then he added seriously:  “But really, I’ve got to go to-night.  We’re just getting hold of the folks down there and we can’t let go.  Otherwise, I should make Carol stay in.  But the boys in her class are so fond of her that I know she is needed as much as I am.”

“But that cough—­”

“Oh, that cough is all right.  It will go when spring comes.  I just haven’t had a chance to rest my throat.  I feel fine to-night.  Come on in, Baldwin.  Yes, we are ready.  Still snowing?  Well, a little snow—­ Here, Carol, you must wear your gaiters.  I’ll buckle them.”

A little later they set out, the three of them, heads lowered against the driving snow.  There were no cars running across country, and indeed not even sidewalks, since it was an unfrequented part of the town with no residences for many blocks until one reached the little, tumbledown section in the Hollow.  Here and there were heavy drifts, and now and then an unexpected ditch in the path gave Carol a tumble into the snow, but, laughing and breathless, she was pulled out again and they plodded heavily on.

In spite of the inclement weather, the tiny house—­called a mission by grace of speech—­was well and noisily filled.  Over sixty people were crowded into the two small rooms, most of them boys between the ages of twelve and sixteen, laughing, coughing, dragging their feet, shoving the heavy benches, dropping song-books.  They greeted the snow-covered trio with a royal roar, and a few minutes later were singing, “Yes, we’ll gather at the river,” at the tops of their discordant voices.  Carol sat at the wheezy organ, painfully pounding out the rhythmic notes,—­no musician she, but willing to do anything in a pinch.  And although at the pretty little church up in the Heights she never attempted to lift her voice in song, down at the mission she felt herself right in her element and sang with gay good-will, happy in the knowledge that she came as near holding to the tune as half the others.

Most of the evening was spent in song, David standing in the narrow doorway between the two rooms, nodding this way, nodding that, in a futile effort to keep a semblance of time among the boisterous worshipers.  A short reading from the Bible, a very brief prayer, a short, conversational story-talk from David, and the meeting broke up in wild clamor.

Then back through the driving snow they made their way, considering the evening well worth all the exertion it had required.

Once inside the cozy manse, David and Carol hastily changed into warm dressing-gowns and slippers and lounged lazily before the big fireplace, sipping hot coffee, and talking, always talking of the work,—­what must be done to-morrow, what could be arranged for Sunday, the young people’s meeting, the primary department, the mission study class.