He nudged the Bangs’ ribs and walked off, chuckling.  Galusha, too, smiled as he watched him go.  Both he and Mr. Pulcifer seemed to find amusement in the situation.  Yet, and Galusha realized it, there was also for him that element of risk.

On Thursday Captain Jethro stopped at the Phipps’ home to invite its inmates to the Saturday evening meeting.  His invitation was not precisely whole-hearted, but the reason he gave for offering it caused its acceptance.

“Lulie seems to want you and Mr. Bangs,” he said, “so come along if you feel like it.  I know you’re one of the don’t-believers, Martha, and I guess likely Bangs is, but never mind.  The door’s open if you want to come.  Maybe you’ll hear somethin’ that’ll lead you to the light; let’s hope so.  Anyhow, Lulie wants you.”

It will be noticed that Primmie’s name was not mentioned in the invitation, but that did not prevent her acceptance.  That evening, after the supper dishes were washed, Miss Phipps heard agonized wails coming from the kitchen and, going there, found her maid seated in a chair, swaying back and forth, and, as Zach Bloomer once described a similar performance, “tootin’ her everlastin’ soul into the harmonica.”

“I’m practicin’ up for Saturday night,” she informed her mistress, cheerfully.  “I’ve been tryin’ to think up some other hymn tunes and I’ve thought of one, but I can’t remember what ’tis, the whole of it, I mean.  You know, Miss Martha, the one about: 

     ’Oh, what a sight ’twill be
      When the somethin’-or-other host we see,
      As numberless as the sands on the seashore.’

What kind of a host is it, Miss Martha?  All I can think of is ‘rancid’ and I’m plaguy sure ’tain’t that.”

Martha burst out laughing.  “It is ‘ransomed,’ Primmie,” she said.  “But if you’re figurin’ on playin’ that thing over at the seance, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed.  Cap’n Jethro has had the old melodeon repaired, I believe.  And, so far as I’ve heard, you haven’t been asked to come, have you?”

Primmie became a statue of despair.

“Oh, Miss Martha,” she pleaded, “Can’t I go?  Can’t I please go?  You’re goin’ and so’s Mr. Bangs, and—­and I do like ’em so, those spirit meetin’s.  They scare me ’most to death and I just love ’em.  Please can’t I go, Miss Martha?”

Martha took pity on her.  “Well, all right, Primmie,” she said.  “Go, if you want to.  I don’t believe Jethro will care.  And,” with a shrug, “I don’t know as another idiot, more or less, added to the rest of us, will make much difference.”