“What does he want it for?” asked pretty Olga Olsen, hurrying to produce the required article.
“Don’t know,” panted Dick. “He’s got Mr. Bedlow—in the entry—an’ he sent for a rope, double quick!”
With which bewildering statement he tore out of the house and back to the church.
Five minutes later the population of North Penfield were astounded by hearing a long-silent, but only too familiar voice.
“It’s that old cracked bell!” exclaimed half a hundred voices at once, in as many families. “Do let’s go to meetin’ an’ see what’s the matter.”
The afternoon’s congregation was, in fact, even larger than the morning’s. Harold noted it with quiet satisfaction, and gave out as his text the first verse of the sixty-sixth Psalm.
At the close of his brief sermon he paused a moment, then referred to the subject in all their thoughts, speaking in no flippant or jesting tone, but in a manner that showed how sacredly important he considered the matter.
“I have been pained to notice,” he said gravely, “the tardiness with which we begin our meetings. It is perfectly natural that we should be late, when there is no general call, such as we have been accustomed to hear from childhood. I do not blame anybody in the least. I do believe that we have all grown into a certain sluggishness, both physical and spiritual, in our assembling together, as a direct consequence of the omission of those chimes which to us and our fathers have always spoken but one blessed word—‘Come!’ I believe,” he continued, looking about over the kindly faces before him, “I believe you agree with me that something should be done. Don’t think me too hasty or presuming in my new pastorate, if I add that it seems to me vitally important to take action at once. Our bell is not musical, it is true, but its tones, cracked and unmelodious as they are, will serve to remind us of our church home, its duties and its pleasures. On Tuesday evening we will hold a special meeting in this house to consider the question of purchasing a new bell, to take the place of the old. The Prudential Committee, and all who are interested in the subject are urged to be present. Let us pray.”
It was a wonderful “season,” that Tuesday evening conference. The cracked bell did its quavering best for a full twenty minutes before the hour appointed, to call the people together; and no appeal could have been more irresistible.
Two thirds of the sum required was raised that night. For ten days more the old bell rang on every possible occasion, until it became an accusing voice of conscience to the parish. Prayer meetings once more began sharp on the hour, and proceeded with old-time vigor. The interest spread until a real revival was in progress before the North Penfield Society were fairly aware of the change. Still the “bell fund” lacked fifty dollars of completion.