Keziah did look well.  Her parson had emerged triumphant from his battle with disease and adverse fate and was more than ever the idol of his congregation.  He was to marry the girl of his choice—­and hers.  The housekeeper’s ears were still ringing with the thanks of John and Grace.  Both seemed to feel that to her, Keziah Coffin, more than anyone else, they owed their great joy.  Some of the things they said she would never forget.  And her own life, too, was freed forever of its burden, the secret which had hung over her for so many years.  Only a very few knew that secret, and they would not disclose it.  Toward the memory of the man buried in the stranger’s lot at the cemetery she felt almost kindly now.  While he lived she had feared and dreaded him, now she was beginning to forgive.  For he had paid his debt with his life, and with her, beside her, was the other, the one whom she had loved, had given up, had mourned for, and who was now to be hers always.  No wonder Keziah looked well.  She was happy, and happiness is a wondrous beautifier.

The minister went up the stairs to the pulpit.  He was still white and thin, but his eyes were bright and his voice clear.  He gave out the opening hymn and the service began.

They said it was the finest sermon ever preached in that church, and perhaps it was.  When it was over, before the benediction was pronounced, Ellery stepped out from behind the pulpit to the edge of the platform.  He looked over the friendly faces upturned to his and, for an instant, it seemed that he could not trust himself to speak.

“My friends,” he said, “I cannot let you go without a personal word.  I owe you so much, all of you, that nothing I can say will convey to you my feeling of gratitude and love for this congregation and this church.  You have stood by me all through.  You trusted me and believed in me.  I came to Trumet a stranger.  I have found here the truest friends a man could hope to find—­yes, and more than friends.  If I live, and while I live, I shall hope to prove by the best effort that is in me my realization of the great debt I owe you and my desire to repay it, even though the payment must, of necessity, be so inadequate.  God bless you all—­and thank you.”

“Wa’n’t it lovely!” gushed Didama.  “And when he said that about true friends he was lookin’ straight at Gracie all the time.”

“Didn’t seem to me so,” declared Gaius Winslow.  “I thought he was lookin’ at Cap’n Hammond.”

“Well, now, that’s queer,” put in Mrs. Parker, the doctor’s wife.  “I would have sworn he was looking at Keziah Coffin.”

Captain Zebedee grinned.  “I cal’late you’re all right,” he observed.  “I wouldn’t wonder if he was lookin’ at all of ’em.”

There was much hand shaking and congratulation and the church emptied slowly.  Among the last to leave were the Peppers and Mr. Pratt.  Lavinia took the minister aside.

“Mr. Ellery,” she simpered, “I’ve—­that is, Caleb and me—­will prob’ly want you to—­That is, we want you to be the one—­”