On Christmas Day In The Evening | Page 2

was more than a little
deaf, but he was listening closely, and he caught the question.
"It's a miserable shame, Nancy, but that church hasn't had a door open
since a year ago last July, when the trouble burst out. We haven't had a
service there since. Mother and I drive over to Estabrook when we feel
like getting out--but that's not often, come winter-time. Being the only
church building in this end of the township, it's pretty bad having it
closed up. But there's the fuss. Folks can't agree what to do, and
nobody dares get a preacher here and try to start things up, on their own
responsibility. But we feel it--we sure do. I don't like to look at the old
meeting-house, going by, I declare I don't. It looks lonesome to me.
And there's where every one of you children grew up, too, sitting there
in the old family pew, with your legs dangling. It's too bad--it's too
bad!"
"It's barbarous!" Guy exclaimed, in a tone of disgust.

"And all over nothing of any real consequence," sighed Mrs. Fernald,
in her gentle way. "We would have given up our ideas gladly, for the
sake of harmony. But--there were so many who felt it necessary to fight
to have their own way."
"And feel that way still, I suppose?" suggested Sam Burnett, cheerfully.
"There's a whole lot of that feeling-it-necessary-to-fight, in the world.
I've experienced it myself, at times."
They talked about it for a few minutes, the younger men rather
enjoying the details of the quarrel, as those may who are outside of an
affair sufficiently far to see its inconsistencies and humours. But it was
clearly a subject which gave pain to the older people, and Guy,
perceiving this, was about to divert the talk into pleasanter channels
when Nan gave a little cry. Her eyes were fixed upon the fire, as if she
saw there something startling.
"People! --Let's open the church--ourselves--and have a Christmas Day
service there!"
They stared at her for a moment, thinking her half dreaming. But her
face was radiant with the light of an idea which was not an idle dream.
Guy began to laugh. "And expect the rival factions to come flocking
peaceably in, like lambs to the fold? I think I see them!"
"Ignore the rival factions. Have a service for everybody. A real
Christmas service, with holly, and ropes of greens, and a star, and
music--and--a sermon," she ended, a little more doubtfully.
"The sermon, by all means," quoth Sam Burnett. "Preach at 'em, when
once you've caught 'em. They'll enjoy that. We all do."
"But it's really a beautiful idea," said Margaret, her young face catching
the glow from Nan's. "I don't see why it couldn't be carried out."
"Of course you don't." Guy spoke decidedly. "If people were all like
you there wouldn't be any quarrels. But unfortunately they are not. And

when I think of the Tomlinsons and the Frasers and the Hills and the
Pollocks, all going in at the same door for a Christmas Day service
under that roof--well----" he gave a soft, long whistle-- "it rather strains
my imagination. Not that they aren't all good people, you know. Oh,
yes! If they weren't, they'd knock each other down in the street and
have it over with--and a splendid thing it would be, too. But, I tell you,
it strains my imagination to----"
"Let it strain it. It's a good thing to exercise the imagination, now and
then. That's the way changes come. I don't think the idea's such a bad
one, myself." Sam Burnett spoke seriously, and Nan gave him a
grateful glance. She was pretty sure of Sam's backing, in most
reasonable things--and a substantial backing it was to have, too.
"Who would conduct such a service?" Mrs. Fernald asked thoughtfully.
"You couldn't get anybody out to church on Christmas morning," broke
in Mr. Fernald, chuckling. "Every mother's daughter of 'em will be
basting her Christmas turkey."
"Then have it Christmas evening. Why not? The day isn't over. Nobody
knows what to do Christmas evening--except go to dances--and there's
never a dance in North Estabrook. Whom can we get to lead it?
Well----" Nan paused, thinking it out. Her eyes roamed from Sam's to
her fathers, and from there on around the circle, while they all waited
for her to have an inspiration. Nobody else had one. Presently, as they
expected--for Nan was a resourceful young person--her face lighted up
again. She gazed at Margaret, smiling, and her idea seemed to
communicate itself to Guy's wife. Together they cried, in one breath:
"Billy!"
"Billy! Whoop-ee!" Guy threw back his head and roared with delight at
the notion. "The Reverend Billy, of St. Johns, coming up to North
Estabrook to take charge