"'Milkin' in the church,' he says.
"'No, sir,' says Amanda, back at him; 'I'm outside on the sod, an' you know it.'
"An' then my hopes sort o' riz, because I thought I heard Eppleby Holcomb laugh soft—sort of a half-an'-half chuckle. Like he'd looked under the situation an' see it wasn't alike on both sides. An' 't the same time Mis' Toplady, she changed her way, an',—
"'Timothy,' s'she, 'you hungry?'
"'I'm nigh starved,' says Timothy. 'It must be eight o'clock,' s'e, 'but I ain't the heart to think o' that.'
"'No,' s'she, 'so you ain't. Not with them poor babies in there hungrier'n you be an' nowheres to go.'
"With that she got done milkin' an' stood up an' picked up her two pails—we could smell the sweet, warm milk from where we was.
"'Timothy,' s'she, 'the worst sacrilege that's done in this world is when folks turns their backs on any little bit of a chance that the Lord gives 'em to do good in, like He told 'em. Who was it, I'd like to know, said, "Suffer little children"? Who was it said, "Feed my lambs"? No "when" or "where" about that. Just do it. An' no occasion to hem an' haw about it, either. The least you can do for your share in this, as I see it, is to keep your silence and drive the cow back home. The oven's full o' bake' sweet potatoes an' they must be just nearin' done.'
"I see Timothy start to wave his arms an' I donno what he would 'a' said if it hadn't been settled for 'im. For then, like it was right out o' the sky, the church organ begun to play soft. For a minute we all looked up, like the Shepherds must of when the voices of the night told 'em the spirit o' God was in the world, born in a little child. It was Abel,—I knew right away it was Abel,—an' he was just gentlin' round soft on the keys, kind o' like he was askin' a blessin' an' rockin' a cradle an' doin' all the little nice things music can. An' with that Mis' Sykes, she throws open the church door.
"I'll never forget how it looked inside—all warm an' lamp-lit an' with them little things bein' fed an' chatterin' soft. An' up in the loft set Abel, playin' away on the foreign organ before it'd been dedicated. An' then he begun singin' low—an' there's somethin' about Abel 't you just haf to listen, whatever he says or does. Even Timothy hed to listen—though I think he was some struck dumb, too, an' that kep' him controlled for a minute—like it will. An' Abel sung:—