“There!” whispered Marion as the mammoth tent came in view.  “What did I tell you?  What do you think of that for a prayer-meeting?” And then she, too, relapsed into silence, for the ringing tones of the speaker’s voice were distinct and clear.  They made their way rapidly and silently under the tent, down the aisle—­half way down—­then a gentleman beckoned them, and by dint of some pushing and moving secured them seats.  Then both girls looked about them in astonishment.  Who would have supposed that it rained!  Why, there were rows and rows and rows of heads, men and women, and even children.  A tent larger than they had imagined could be built and packed with people.

Marion’s tongue was uncontrollable.  She was barely seated before she began her whispered comments: 

“That man who is speaking is Dr. Vincent.  Hasn’t he a ringing voice?  It reminds me of a trumpet.  He likes to use it, I know he does; he has learned to manage it so nicely, and with an eye to the effect.  You will hear his voice often enough, and you just watch and see if you don’t learn to know the first echo of it from any other.”

“Perhaps he won’t be here all the time to use his voice,” whispered back Flossy, without much idea what she was saying.  The novelty of the scene had stolen her senses.

Marion laughed softly.

“You blessed little idiot!” she said, “don’t you know that he manufactured Chautauqua, root and branch?  Or if he didn’t quite manufacture the trees he looked after their growth, I dare say.  Why, this meeting is his darling, his idol, his best beloved.  ’Hear him speak?’ I guess you will.  I should like to see a meeting of this kind that didn’t hear from him.  It will have to be when he is out of the body.”

“How do you know about him?” whispered Flossy, struck with sudden curiosity.

“I’ve written him up,” Marion said, briefly.  “I’ve had to do it several times.  Oh, I’m a veteran at Sunday-school meetings.  But he is the hardest man to write about that there is among them, because you can never tell what he may happen to say or do next.  It will never do to jump at his conclusions, and slip in a neat little sentence of your own as coming from him if you don’t happen to have taken very profuse notes, because as sure as you do he will spring up in some tiresome meeting in less than a week and unsay every single word that you said.  He said—­”

At this point a poor martyr, who had the misery to sit directly in front of these two whisperers, turned and gave them such a look as only a man can under like circumstances, and awed them into five minutes of quiet.  It lasted until Dr. Eggleston was announced.  Then Marion’s tongue broke loose again: 

“He is the ‘Hoosier Schoolmaster.’  Don’t you know we read his book aloud at the seminary?  Looks as though he might have written it, doesn’t he?  Let’s listen to what he says.  He always says a word or two that a body can report; very few of them do.”