At such times the entire content in Mrs. Wilkins’s face made tobacco fumes endurable, and the burden of a dull man’s presence less oppressive to Christie, who loved to pay her debts in something besides money.

As they sat together finishing off some delicate laces that Saturday afternoon, Mrs. Wilkins said, “Ef it’s fair to-morrow I want you to go to my meetin’ and hear my minister.  It’ll do you good.”

“Who is he?”

“Mr. Power.”

Christie looked rather startled, for she had heard of Thomas Power as a rampant radical and infidel of the deepest dye, and been warned never to visit that den of iniquity called his free church.

“Why, Mrs. Wilkins, you don’t mean it!” she said, leaving her lace to dry at the most critical stage.

“Yee, I do!” answered Mrs. Wilkins, setting down her flat-iron with emphasis, and evidently preparing to fight valiantly for her minister, as most women will.

“I beg your pardon; I was a little surprised, for I’d heard all sorts of things about him,” Christie hastened to say.

“Did you ever hear him, or read any of his writins?” demanded Mrs. Wilkins, with a calmer air.

“Never.”

“Then don’t judge.  You go hear and see that blessed man, and ef you don’t say he’s the shadder of a great rock in a desert land, I’ll give up,” cried the good woman, waxing poetical in her warmth.

“I will to please you, if nothing else.  I did go once just because I was told not to; but he did not preach that day and every thing was so peculiar, I didn’t know whether to like it or be shocked.”

“It is kind of sing’lar at fust, I’m free to confess, and not as churchy as some folks like.  But there ain’t no place but that big enough to hold the crowds that want to go, for the more he’s abused the more folks flock to see him.  They git their money’s wuth I do believe, for though there ain’t no pulpits and pews, there’s a sight of brotherly love round in them seats, and pious practice, as well as powerful preaching, in that shabby desk.  He don’t need no commandments painted up behind him to read on Sunday, for he keeps ’em in his heart and life all the week as honest as man can.”

There Mrs. Wilkins paused, flushed and breathless with her defence, and Christie said, candidly:  “I did like the freedom and good-will there, for people sat where they liked, and no one frowned over shut pew-doors, at me a stranger.  An old black woman sat next me, and said ‘Amen’ when she liked what she heard, and a very shabby young man was on the other, listening as if his soul was as hungry as his body.  People read books, laughed and cried, clapped when pleased, and hissed when angry; that I did not like.”