for that night, and made arrangements to hold it in the church itself,
as the classroom was too small for the expected audience.

Then the thunderbolt descended on the W.F.M.A. of Putney from a clear
sky. The elders of the church rose up to a man and declared that no
woman should occupy the pulpit of the Putney church. It was in direct
contravention to the teachings of St. Paul.

To make matters worse, Mr. Sinclair declared himself on the elders'
side. He said that he could not conscientiously give his consent to a
woman occupying his pulpit, even when that woman was Mrs. Cotterell
and her subject foreign missions.

The members of the Auxiliary were aghast. They called a meeting
extraordinary in the classroom and, discarding all forms and
ceremonies in their wrath, talked their indignation out.

Out of doors the world basked in June sunshine and preened itself in
blossom. The birds sang and chirped in the lichened maples that cupped
the little church in, and peace was over all the Putney valley. Inside
the classroom disgusted women buzzed like angry bees.

"What on earth are we to do?" sighed the secretary plaintively. Mary
Kilburn was always plaintive. She sat on the steps of the platform,
being too wrought up in her mind to sit in her chair at the desk, and
her thin, faded little face was twisted with anxiety. "All the
arrangements are made and Mrs. Cotterell is coming on the tenth. How
can we tell her that the men won't let her speak?"

"There was never anything like this in Putney church before," groaned
Mrs. Elder Knox. "It was Andrew McKittrick put them up to it. I always
said that man would make trouble here yet, ever since he moved to
Putney from Danbridge. I've talked and argued with Thomas until I'm
dumb, but he is as set as a rock."

"I don't see what business the men have to interfere with us anyhow,"
said her daughter Lucy, who was sitting on one of the window-sills.
"We don't meddle with them, I'm sure. As if Mrs. Cotterell would
contaminate the pulpit!"

"One would think we were still in the dark ages," said Frances
Spenslow sharply. Frances was the Putney schoolteacher. Her father was
one of the recalcitrant elders and Frances felt it bitterly--all the
more that she had tried to argue with him and had been sat upon as a
"child who couldn't understand."

"I'm more surprised at Mr. Sinclair than at the elders," said Mrs.
Abner Keech, fanning herself vigorously. "Elders are subject to queer
spe