For there had been some objections.  I heard of two.

One came from Mr. Wheaton.  Monday afternoon, going by the Church, he saw the door open, went in, found it full of busy workers; ceiling, aisles, pulpit, and gallery, strewed with evergreens, and the clatter of merry voices keeping pace with the busy fingers.  It was his first intimation of what was going on.

“Heyday!” said he.  “What is all this?  Who authorized it, I should like to know?”

The chatter of merry voices ceased.  The young ladies were in awe.  Miss Moore was not there to answer for them.  No one dared act as spoksman.  Young Jim Wheaton was on a step-ladder rather dangerously resting on the backs of two pews.  He was tacking the letter G to the gallery.  He noticed the silence and discerned the cause.

“Father,” said he, “I wish you would hold this ladder for me a minute.  It is rather ticklish.”

“Ah, Jim, is that you?” said the old man.  Pride in Jim is the father’s weak point.  The ladder was held.  Then his advice was asked about the placing of the mottoes; and it was given, and that was the last of Mr. Wheaton’s objection.

The other objection came from Mr. Hardcap, the carpenter.  I met him at the door of the church Saturday afternoon, just as the last rubbish had been swept out and we were closing the door.

“Looks beautiful, doesn’t it Mr. Hardcap?” said I.

“They’d better have spent their time on their knees than with these fixins,” growled Mr. Hardcap; “‘twould ha’ done the Church more good, a deal sight.”

“Did you spend your time on your knees?” I could not refrain from asking.

But Mr. Hardcap did not answer.

CHAPTER XVI.

Mr. Gear Again.

Our Bible class at the Mill has prospered greatly.  Mr. Gear was better than his word.  The first Sabbath he brought in over a dozen of his young men; the half dozen who were already in the Sabbath School joined us of course.  Others have followed.  Some of the children of the Mill village gathered curiously about the school-house door from Sunday to Sunday.  It occurred to me that we might do something with them.  I proposed it to Mr. Gear.  He assented.  So we invited them in, got a few discarded singing books from the Wheathedge Sabbath-school, and used music as an invitation to more.  Mrs. Gear has come in to teach them.  There are not over a dozen or twenty all told as yet.  If the skating or the sliding is good they are reduced to five or six.  Still the number is gradually increasing, and there are enough to constitute the germ of a possible Mission-school.  I wish we had a Pastor.  He might make something out of it.

Mr. Gear adheres to his pledge, and I to mine.  We have no theological discussions in the class.  Occasionally, indeed pretty frequently, we get on themes on which we are not agreed.  But we never debate.  Mr. Gear has made several attempts at a theological discussion out of the class, but I have avoided them.  I hope he does not think I am afraid of discussion.