"I think that it's rather a silly thing for you to be concerning yourself with," the young man said. "After all, it failed to incite these humans to any thoughts which could really be called sinful."
"Then it is an equally silly thing for you to concern yourself with, isn't it?"
"I do so because it disturbs humans at a time when they may be nearest to God."
"I concern myself for the same reason."
A non-existent half hour passed. The young man sat on the steps, his white suit impeccable, face thoughtful. The man in black sat and smoked and smirked. The three old men waited.
Out in the yard the outhouse stood, a battleground of good and evil. Its coat of white paint gleamed in the sun, which still stood high as a result of timelessness. Its red roof was a challenge. To the young man, staring moodily, the crescent in the door seemed a mocking, lopsided smile.
On the roof stood a new and larger mounting, containing a new and larger cowbell, from which hung a new and heavier chain.
Once the young man looked upward, as if for guidance.
Once he sighed and shook his head, as if discouraged.