For a moment the two women did not speak. Then Miss Molly cast herself upon her old friend's bosom, "They're coming back!" she cried. "Annie and her children!"
Miss Abigail stared over her head. "They are all coming back," she said, "and—we are ready for them. The library's ready—the school is ready" she got up and opened the door into the great, cold, lofty church, "and" They looked in silence at the empty pews.
"Next Christmas!" said Miss Molly. "Next Christmas"
The young minister bustled in, announcing as he came, "We will open the service by singing hymn number forty-nine."
He sat down before the little old organ and struck a resonant chord.
" Oh, come, all ye faithful! "
his full rich voice proclaimed, and then he stopped short, startled by a great cry from Miss Abigail. Looking over his shoulder, he saw that the tears were streaming down her face. He smiled to himself at the sentimentality of old women and turned again to the organ, relieved that his performance of a favorite hymn was not to be marred by cracked trebles. He sang with much taste and expression.
"Oh, come, all ye faithful!"
he chanted lustily,
"Joyful and triumphant!"
