If he could show biblical authority for this, of course nothing more
could be said. But if he could not, then he must get down from the
pulpit, and sit for the rest of his life on a back seat of the church.
This proposition met with the more favor, because even those who were
most indignant had an earnest curiosity to know what the old man would
say for himself.
During all this time of angry discussion, good old Peter was quietly and
calmly cutting and hauling wood on the Little Mountain. His mind was in
a condition of great comfort and peace, for not only had he been able to
rid himself, in his last sermon, of many of the hard thoughts concerning
women that had been gathering themselves together for years, but his
absence from home had given him a holiday from the harassments of Aunt
Rebecca's tongue, so that no new notions of woman's culpability had
risen within him. He had dismissed the subject altogether, and had been
thinking over a sermon regarding baptism, which he thought he could make
convincing to certain of the younger members of his congregation.
He arrived at home very late on Saturday night, and retired to his
simple couch without knowing anything of the terrible storm which had
been gathering through the week, and which was to burst upon him on the
morrow.
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