"Me ?--in meetin'?
Goodness, deacon, it gives me the conniptions to think of it! Besides,"-- here she dragged her scanty clothing about her more closely,--"I ain't fit to be seen among decent folks." "Clothes don't count for anything in the house of the Lord," said the deacon, stoutly, though he knew he was lying.

"Meeting begins at half-past seven, and the sun's down now." "Nan," whispered Sam, "come along.

You can slip in a back seat an' nobody'll see nothin' but your face.

Stand by me, Nan: I'm your husband.

Stand by me, so I can stand by my only friend." "Deacon ain't no friend o' yourn," whispered the trembling woman in reply.
"I'm not talkin' about the deacon, Nan.