"Heyday!" said he. "What is all this? Who authorized it, I should like to know?"
The chatter of merry voices ceased. The young ladies were in awe. Miss Moore was not there to answer for them. No one dared act as spoksman. Young Jim Wheaton was on a step-ladder rather dangerously resting on the backs of two pews. He was tacking the letter G to the gallery. He noticed the silence and discerned the cause.
"Father," said he, "I wish you would hold this ladder for me a minute. It is rather ticklish."
"Ah, Jim, is that you?" said the old man. Pride in Jim is the father's weak point. The ladder was held. Then his advice was asked about the placing of the mottoes; and it was given, and that was the last of Mr. Wheaton's objection.
The other objection came from Mr. Hardcap, the carpenter. I met him at the door of the church Saturday afternoon, just as the last rubbish had been swept out and we were closing the door.
"Looks beautiful, doesn't it Mr. Hardcap?" said I.
"They'd better have spent their time on their knees than with these fixins," growled Mr. Hardcap; "'twould ha' done the Church more good, a deal sight."
"Did you spend your time on your knees?" I could not refrain from asking.
But Mr. Hardcap did not answer.