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 gregation, Banjo Crossing, Banjo County, the United States of America, Bishop Toomis, and the Methodist Episcopal Church (North) in all its departments.

Cleo concluded the celebration with a piano solo, and there was a great deal more of hand-shaking. It seemed to be the rule that whoever came or was pushed within reach of the pastor, no matter how many times during the evening, should attack his hand each time.

And they had cake and homemade ice cream.

It was very dull and, to Elmer, very grateful. He felt accepted, secure, and ready to begin his work.

He had plans for the Wednesday evening prayer-meeting, He knew what a prayer-meeting in Banjo Crossing would be like. They would drone a couple of hymns and the faithful, half a dozen of them, always using the same words, would pop up and mumble, "Oh, I thank the Lord that he has revealed himself to me and has shown me the error of my ways and oh that those who have not seen his light and whose hearts are heavy with sin may turn to him this evening while they still have life and breath"—which they never did. And the sullenly unhappy woman in the faded jacket, at the back, would demand, "I want the prayers of the congregation to save my husband from the sins of smoking and drinking."

"I may not," Elmer meditated, "be as swell a scholar as old Toomis, but I can invent a lot of stunts and everything to wake the church up and attract the crowds, and that's worth a whole lot more than all this yowling about the prophets and theology!"

He began his "stunts" with that first prayer-meeting.

He suggested, "I know a lot of us want to give testimony, but sometimes it's hard to think of new ways of saying things, and let me suggest something new. Let's give our testimony by picking out hymns that express just how we feel about the dear Savior and his help. Then we can all join together in the gladsome testimony."

It went over.

"That's a fine fellow, that new Methodist preacher," said the villagers that week.