so as not to be a disgrace to the church.  Mrs. Goodsole thought it doubtful about raising the money, and Mrs. Hardcap said that “her husband wasn’t in favor of the parsonage nohow, and she didn’t believe would think much of fixin’ of it up;” but Miss Moore replied to Mrs. Goodsole that she could try at any rate, and to Mrs. Hardcap that she would be responsible that Mr. Hardcap would do his share; a remark which to some of us seemed a bold one, but which pleased Mrs. Hardcap for all that.

Mr. Hardcap, I believe, means well, though to some of us his ideas do seem very contracted, sometimes.  But my husband says that narrow men are needed as well as broad ones, and that if there were no Mr. Hardcap to count the cost of every venture before it was undertaken, the church would have been bankrupt long before this time.

We appointed committees that evening; one to raise the money-of course Miss Moore was at the head of that—­one to furnish the kitchen, one to furnish the parlor and bed-room, (as I knew the bride, I was put on that committee,) and one to provide a supper.  Some of the ladies wanted to have a grand reception.  They said it would be a good thing to surprise the new pastor with a house-warming.  Mrs. Hardcap proposed that the sewing society meet there that afternoon.  But Miss Moore objected strongly.  She said it would cost nearly as much to provide a supper for the whole congregation as to furnish a good bed-room set.  I think, though, it was really little Miss Flidgett who put a quietus on that plan.

“Why,” said she in an injured tone, “I want to be there and see how they like it.”

Nobody dared advocate the plan after that speech.  I really think that they all felt very much the same way, however.

The next day some of us met at the parsonage to take a survey.  Last year the house was without a tenant, and it had come to be in rather a dilapidated condition.  The fence gate was off the hinges.  The garden was over-grown with weeds.  The sink in the kitchen was badly rotted.  One of the parlor blinds was off.  There was a bad leak over the back porch, and the plastering looked just ready to fall, and the whole looked dingy,—­it needed outside painting sadly.

“We needn’t let these things go so,” said Miss Moore.  “The landlord must put the house to rights.”

So off we posted to the landlord, who is a queer, crusty old bachelor, who has, I verily believe, a kind heart, and does a good deal of good in his own fashion; but his fashion is never like any one else’s.  Not a thing could Miss Moore get out of him.  He had rented the house as it stood, he said.  If the trustees didn’t like it they needn’t have taken it.  They paid little enough rent to repair it themselves.  He had nothing more to do except to get his rent regularly, and that she might depend he would do.

Miss Moore returned somewhat disappointed, but nothing daunted.  “So much the better,” said she.  “It will give Mr. Hardcap a chance to do something.”