"Wait a little: I have not done yet; there are conditions. I wish to say that a subscription paper has already been started for a new edifice costing not less than twenty thousand dollars, and the sum of fourteen thousand eight hundred dollars, including five thousand for our old church building, already subscribed, on condition that the whole amount be raised, and no mortgage ever be allowed upon it."
Profound silence followed this speech, which was like a bombshell thrown into an unprotected house; then a few whispers were heard,—
"Five thousand and more to raise. Where will it come from?"
"'T would have cost ten to repair, and 't would have been an old building after all."
At last, Mr. Rand, an aged, white-haired farmer, stood up.
"I'm an old man," he said, "and not long for this world; but I hope to live to see the new church built on that 'ere spot yonder, which, in my opinion, is the pootiest place for a church in the hull town,—yes, and to worship God in it, too. I'm not rich, and I'm not poor. I've got nigh upon two thousand dollars in the savings bank, laid up for a wet day. My children are all married and settled on farms of their own; so I sha'n't do any of 'em wrong if I add my name to Mr. Asbury's paper," holding out his hand for it. "There," he said, deliberately taking off the glasses he had put on to write,—"there's fifteen thousand three hundred subscribed on the above-named conditions. If necessary, I'll add another five hundred; and I'm sure my old woman will say so, too."
"After this noble example," rejoined the moderator, more moved by the old man's words than he liked to show, "I'll put down my name for the same sum as he did."
Smaller sums were at once added, so that when the meeting adjourned, after the appointment of a building committee, only one thousand more was necessary to make up the entire amount. This was to be obtained by personal solicitation from the families of those not represented at the meeting, and a committee of ladies was requested to take this work in hand.