against us now. We must fight, whether or not we want
to fight."

"But now," she added, "I can't talk any more. Let us go. It may do us
good. Miss Julia at least will be glad to see us, if no one else is."

Early as they were, they were not the first arrivals at the library
room where Miss Julia Delafield had devised her entertainment. She had
borrowed certain benches from the public school, certain chairs as well.
Already a goodly portion of Spring Valley's best people filled these.
The seats made back from the little raised platform which usually served
as the librarian's desk place. This now was enlarged by the removal of
all the desks.

Back of this narrow dais was draped a large flag of our Union, and in
the center of its folds was the campaign portrait of Judge Henderson,
chief speaker of the evening.

Aurora Lane and her son entered unnoticed for the time, and quietly took
seats in the last row of benches at the rear, near to some awkward
youths who had straggled in and seemed uncomfortable in their
surroundings. Not even Miss Julia noted them, for presently it became
her flushing duty to escort Judge Henderson, and several of her other
speakers, to the edge of the little platform, where they took their
places back of the conventional table and pitcher of water.

The leader in the town's affairs bent over affably to speak with his
associates--three ministers of the gospel, Reverend Augustus Wilson, of
the U. P. Church, Reverend Henry Fullerton, of the Congregationalist
Church, and Reverend William B. Burnham, of the Methodists. There were
many other ministers of the gospel in Spring Valley, which rejoiced
exceedingly in the multiplicity of its churches; but to these, in the
belief of Miss Julia, had more specially been given the gift of tongues.

There came presently and seated himself on the bench next to Aurora Lane
yet another minister of the gospel, old Mr. Rawlins, of the Church of
Christ, the least important denomination of the village, so few of
numbers and so scant of means that its house of worship must needs be
located just at the edge of town, where land was very cheap. A kindly
man, Parson Rawlins, and of mysterious life, for none might say whence
came his raven-brought revenue. Questioned, Brother Rawlins admitted
that he was not in the least sure whether or not he had a definite
creed. He held out his hand smilingly to Aurora Lane.... An old man he
was, with white hair and a thin face, his ch