des and at one end, and filled with
benches without backs. Straw was strewn in the aisles and between the
benches. There was a platform at the closed end of the shed, and on it
sat a number of preachers and elders of the church.

The crowd was large. Westerfelt stood for a moment in the phalanx of
men surrounding the shed, and surreptitiously eyed Bates and Harriet.
Her back was towards him as she stood, her cloak on her arm, still
politely watching her escort's movements. She looked so pretty, and
there was such appealing grace in her posture. He saw Bates join her
and take her arm, and then he watched them no longer. He knew they
were coming, and he went in at the end of the shed and found a seat
near the centre on the left. He saw Luke Bradley drive up and help his
wife and Mrs. Dawson to alight, then Frank Hansard and Jennie Wynn came
in and sat on the bench just behind him. Jennie was laughing in her
handkerchief.

"There is old Mis' Henshaw," she whispered to Frank; "she's the'r
regular stan'-by at shouting. When they begin to call up mourners she
commences to clap 'er hands an' shout, then the rest get over their
bashfulness an' the fun begins. We may see a lot of excitement if the
town-people don't come and freeze 'em out with their finery an' stiff
ways."

"You ort ter go up yorese'f, Jen," replied Frank; "you need it ef
anybody does."

"I went up once," she laughed; "but Mary Trumbull pinched me an' tol'
me to look at ol' Mis' Warlick's dress, right in front of us. It had
split wide open between the shoulders an' all down the back. I thought
I'd die laughin'. They all believed I was cryin', and I got hugged by
a whole string of exhorters."

"We'd better lie low," cautioned Frank; "last year, these camp-ground
folks had some town-people indicted for disturbin' public worship, an'
they had a lots o' trouble at court. They say they've determined to
break up the fun that goes on here."

Westerfelt saw Luke Bradley and his party come in and sit down near the
centre of the shed. He caught Mrs. Dawson's glance, but she quickly
looked away. She had not forgiven him; that fact lay embedded in the
sallow hardness of her face.

A moment later he forgot that Mrs. Dawson was in existence, for Harriet
and Bates were coming in. Bates still clutched her arm and carried her
cloak thrown over his shoulder. Westerfelt looked straight ahead at
the platform, but he heard their feet rustling in the straw,