r Marty speak of Henry Ambery as a retired farmer. He
knew retired farmers in town, plenty of them, and some no happier for
being there. But in the country?

"Oh," said Marty, "that's easy. Our church is the social hub of all this
community, and I told the Amberys that if they built here they would be
as well off as in town. I'm right too. They bought two acres for less
than the price of a town lot, and they have most of the farm comforts as
well as all the modern conveniences. You didn't notice any signs of
homesickness, did you?"

No, J.W., hadn't, though he knew the retired-farmer sort of homesickness
when he saw it.

"And the Amberys are worth more to the church than they ever were,"
Marty added. "I'm thinking of a scheme to colonize two or three other
retiring farmers within easy reach of this church. Why not? They've got
cars, and can drive to the county seat in an hour if they want to.
That's better than living there all the time, with nothing to do."

By this the two were at the church, a pretty frame building, L-shaped,
with a community house adjoining the auditorium. People were beginning
to arrive in all sorts of vehicles--cars, mostly. J.W. looked for signs
of a feed, but vainly. No spread tables, no smell of cooking or rattle
of dishes from the kitchen.

"What is it, Marty?" he asked. And Marty laughed as he answered,
"Old-fashioned singing school, with some new-fashioned variations,
that's all." Certainly it was something which interested the
countryside, for there was every indication of a crowded house.

J.W. heard the singing and noted with high approval the variations which
modernized the old order. He thought the idea plenty good enough even
for Delafield, which, for him, left nothing more to be said. And there
_was_ a feed, after all; but it was distinctly light refreshments, such
as J.W. was used to at Delafield First Church.

On the way back to the Amberys', and well into the night in Marty's
room, they talked about the circuit and its work.

"It isn't a circuit, rightly, you know," Marty said. "I preach every
Sunday at both places, and for the present"--J.W. grinned--"I can get
across the whole parish every day if necessary. But I'm working it a
little more systematically than that."

"You must be. I can hardly believe even what I've seen already," J.W.
replied. "When I was at Deep Creek last Sunday I was sure it was all
off with the country church, and on the way down here I passed thre