om Gould's Bluffs
lighthouse, you bet on that."

Galusha expressed surprise and gave reasons for that emotion. Raish
winked and nodded.

"Yes, I know," he said, "but I'm goin' to have what they call an alibi.
You ain't been to court much, I presume likely, Perfessor, so you may
not be on to what alibi is. When Bill Alworthy was hauled up for sellin'
without a license we had an alibi for him. He proved he was fourteen
mile away from where he sold the stuff--I mean from where they said he
sold it--and it was that what got him off. Well, on Saturday night
I'm goin' to have an alibi. I'm goin' to be settin' in at a little
penny-ante in Elmer Rogers' back room over to the Centre. An alibi's
a nice thing to have in the house, Perfessor. Hey? Haw, haw, haw! Yes,
sir-ee! In case there's any talk they won't be able to pin much on your
Uncle Raish, not much they won't."

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.'