ten minutes past--fifteen minutes
past. If the truth must be told, Mr. Ives had been on the very threshold
of the hall, and one glance at the poor sprinkling of people there had
decided him. Mr. Ives had a natural aversion to being laughed at, and as
he walked back on the darker side of the street he wished heartily that
he had stuck to his original Gamaliel-advocacy of no interference, of
allowing the Supreme Judge to decide. Such opinions were inevitably
just, Mr. Ives was well aware, though not always handed down
immediately. If he were to humble the first citizen, Mr. Ives reflected
that a better opportunity might present itself. The whistle of the
up-train served to strengthen his resolution, for he was reminded
thereby that his mill often had occasion to ask favors of the Truro
Railroad.

In the meantime it was twenty minutes past eight in the town hall, and
Mr. Graves had not rapped for order. Deacon Hartington sat as motionless
as a stork on the borders of a glassy lake at sunrise, the judge had
begun seriously to estimate the gas bill, and Mr. Page had chewed up the
end of a pencil. There was one, at least, in the audience of whom the
judge could be sure. A certain old soldier in blue sat uncompromisingly
on the front bench with his hands crossed over the head of his stick;
but the ladies and gentlemen nearest the door were beginning to vanish,
one by one, silently as ghosts, when suddenly the judge sat up. He would
have rubbed his eyes, had he been that kind of a man. Four persons had
entered the hall--he was sure of it--and with no uncertain steps as
if frightened by its emptiness. No, they came boldly. And after them
trooped others, and still others were heard in the street beyond, not
whispering, but talking in the unmistakable tones of people who had more
coming behind them. Yes, and more came. It was no illusion, or delusion:
there they were filling the hall as if they meant to stay, and buzzing
with excitement. The judge was quivering with excitement now, but
he, too, was only a spectator of the drama. And what a drama, with a
miracle-play for Brampton!

Mr. Page rose from his chair and leaned over the edge of the platform
that something might be whispered in his ear. The news, whatever it
was, was apparently electrifying, and after the first shock he turned to
impart it to Mr. Graves; but turned too late, for the judge had already
rapped for order and was clearing his throat. He could not account for