ugly and vicious and so
nervous that the least noise, the least stir, sent them into a
quivering frenzy of fright.

Every one in Green Valley knew this and not a few men and women were
worrying. Several men were making up their minds to speak sharply to
Seth about it. But everybody smiled and even felt relieved when they
heard that Fanny had offered her services to the Civic League in this
capacity. Green Valley knew Seth and knew Fanny Foster. Fanny would
most certainly tell Seth about it. And everybody knew just how mad
Seth would get. Fanny would not of course accomplish much. But she
would open up the subject, suffer the first violence of Seth's anger
and so make it easier for some more competent person to take Seth to
task and force him to be reasonable.

The minister had spoken to Seth long ago but though Seth listened
quietly to the quiet words of the one man he had come to love in his
queer fashion, he had set his jaw grimly at the end and said, "No, sir!
I've made up my mind not to stand this interference with my personal
liberty and God Himself can't budge me!"

"Yes, He can, Seth. But don't let it go that far," Cynthia's son had
begged.

Now all Green Valley was waiting to see Fanny tackle Seth in the name
of the Civic League. It would be funny, everybody said.

Fanny did it one sunny afternoon in early spring when the streets were
gay with folks all out to taste the first bit of gladness in the air.
Fanny did it in her usual lengthy and thorough manner and permitted no
interruptions. She was talking for the first time in her life with
authority vested in her by a civic body. So there was a strength and a
conscientiousness about her remarks that struck home.

Seth was standing alone on the hotel steps when Fanny began talking but
all of Green Valley that was abroad was gathered laughingly about her
when she finished and stood waiting for Seth's answer.

Seth had had a glass too much or he would never have done, never have
said what he did and said that day. He would never have taken poor,
harmless, laughter-loving, happy-go-lucky Fanny Foster, who had never
done a mean, malicious thing in her life, who had let her world use her
for all the little hateful tasks that nobody else would do and in which
there was no thanks or any glory,--Seth in his senses would never have
held up this dear though unfinished soul to the scorn, the pitiless
ridicule of her townsmen.

If Fanny had been touched