“Humph!” observed Captain Zeb, summing up the situation, “he started about ten year astern, but he’ll beat her on the run into the cemetery, now you mark my words.  Annabel’s temper’s cal’lated to keep any average chap drivin’ on that course, bows under.  There’s a three-reef breeze blowin’ off her tongue, day and night.”

On a Sunday morning, a few weeks after the committee meeting, the Regular church was crowded.  John Ellery was to preach his first sermon since the San Jose came ashore.  Every member of the congregation was present.  Even Mrs. Prince, feeble but garrulous, was there.  Gaius Winslow, having delivered his brood of children at the church door, made a special trip in his carryall to fetch the old lady.  Captain Zebedee and Mrs. Mayo beamed from their pew.  Dr Parker and his wife smiled at them across the aisle.  Didama Rogers’s new bonnet was a work of art and her neck threatened to twist itself off as she turned to see each one who came in.

Lavinia Pepper sailed to the front.  She was dressed in a new black alpaca which rustled so very much like silk that nearsighted people might have been deceived by it.  With her was a man, apparently suffering from strangulation because of the height and tightness of his collar.  “It’s Caleb Pratt, from Sandwich,” whispered Didama.  “Thankful Payne’s relation, you know.  Have you heard what folks are sayin’?  I guess it’s true, because—­Look at Kyan! you’d think he was goin’ to his own funeral.”

Abishai’s expression was not cheerful, certainly.  He followed Mr. Pratt and his sister to the Pepper pew and subsided sadly in the corner next the wall.  Occasionally he was observed to wipe his forehead and once—­it was during the prayer—­he groaned audibly.  Lavinia’s dig in the ribs prevented his repeating the sound, but, judging by his looks, he continued to groan in spirit.

There was a stir at the door.  All heads swung in that direction—­all but Mr. Pepper’s, that is.  The minister and Grace were coming up the aisle and behind them came Captain Nat Hammond and Keziah Coffin.  Nat was smiling and self-possessed.  Never before in his life had he entered the Regular meeting house as a worshiper, but he seemed to be bearing the ordeal bravely.  It was Grace’s first visit to the church, also, and she was plainly embarrassed.  To be stared at by eighty-odd pairs of eyes, and to catch whispered comments from the starers’ tongues, is likely to embarrass one.

Yet the comments were all friendly.

“I declare!” whispered Mrs. Prince, “I never see her look so pretty afore.  I knew she was the best lookin’ girl in this town, but I never realized she was such a beauty.  Well, there’s one thing sartin’—­we’ve got the handsomest parson and parson’s wife in this county, by about ten mile and four rows of apple trees.  And there’s the other bride that’s goin’ to be.  I never see Keziah look so well, neither.”