The gates ajar. By Elizabeth Stuart Phelps.

I70 The Gates Ajar.
borg," she said, as soon as she could sober
down a little.
The Deacon pricked up his ears, with visions of excommunications and councils reflected on every feature.
" Until I read his books," she finished.
"Oh!" said the Deacon. He waited for
more, but she seemed to consider the conversation at an end.
"So then you -if I understand- are not
a Swedenborgian, ma'am?"
"If I were, I certainly should have had no
inducement to join myself to your church," she
replied, with gentle dignity. "I believe, with
all my heart, in the same Bible and the same
creed that you believe in, Deacon Quirk."
"And you live your creed, which all such
genial Christians do not find it necessary to
do," I thought, as the Deacon in some perplexity took his departure, and she returned with a
smile to her sewing.
I suppose the call came about in this way.
We had the sewing-circle here last week, and
just before the lamps were lighted, and when
people had dropped their work to group and
talk in the corners, Meta Tripp came up with
one or two other girls to Aunt Winifred, and