The man for Tecumseh was the Reverend Theron Ware.
The choice was an admirable one, from points of view much more exalted than those of the local congregation.
You could see Mr.Ware sitting there at the end of the row inside the altar-rail--the tall, slender young man with the broad white brow, thoughtful eyes, and features moulded into that regularity of strength which used to characterize the American Senatorial type in those far-away days of clean-shaven faces and moderate incomes before the War.
The bright-faced, comely, and vivacious young woman in the second side pew was his wife--and Tecumseh noted with approbation that she knew how to dress.

There were really no two better or worthier people in the building than this young couple, who sat waiting along with the rest to hear their fate.

But unhappily they had come to know of the effort being made to bring them to Tecumseh; and their simple pride in the triumph of the husband's fine sermon had become swallowed up in a terribly anxious conflict of hope and fear.

Neither of them could maintain a satisfactory show of composure as the decisive moment approached.

The vision of translation from poverty and obscurity to such a splendid post as this--truly it was too dazzling for tranquil nerves.
The tedious Bishop had at last begun to call his roll of names, and the good people of Tecumseh mentally ticked them off, one by one, as the list expanded.