Doubt vanished on swift wings. "I think nothing of the sort. And you mustn't think of it, either. You must believe you can. It is half the battle. Hear me preach!" he laughed.
"That's what he—Mr. Radbourne—said."
"He was right, as always. This is very exciting. Do you know, I've a feeling you're going to knock 'em galley-west. And that," he nodded gaily down at her, "and that would be the finest thing that could happen."
"You forget your church," she smiled back.
"So I did! But now I remember it, I have nothing whatever to take back."
The witch chuckled as only witches can and sent her broomstick steed prancing madly across the sky. . . .
He saw Esther and her aunt away that Sabbath afternoon with a jest—an extravagant salute and an "Up, lass, an' at 'em!" to which she made answer with a determined smile. When they had been perhaps five minutes gone, he put on his hat and followed.
He found a seat in the rear of the church and waited, nerves strung taut as if the ordeal were his, wishing the services would begin and yet dreading it. His eyes swept the gathering worshipers idly until they happened upon a familiar face across the church, a homely face set sternly rigid toward the choir loft.
"He would be here, of course," David mused. "In a way, if ever she makes good, her success will be his. It will be because he has given it to her."
A nameless little regret followed that. But before he could give it a name the organ burst into the prelude and the choir filed into the loft.