She reached the quiet home of Rev.Solomon Snow.
"Who knows but he can be spurred up to do something ?" she said to herself.
There was only one way to ascertain--so she knocked at the door, and was received so kindly by Mr.Snow and Mrs.Snow and the three Misses Snow, that she sat down and unburdened herself--first, of course, as regarded Mr.Robert Belcher, and second, as concerned the Benedicts, father and son.
The position of Mr.Belcher was one which inspired the minister with caution, but the atmosphere was freer in his house than in that of the proprietor.

The vocal engine whose wheels had slipped upon the track with many a whirr, as she started her train in the great house on the hill, found a down grade, and went off easily.

Mr.Snow sat in his arm-chair, his elbows resting on either support, the thumb and every finger of each hand touching its twin at the point, and forming a kind of gateway in front of his heart, which seemed to shut out or let in conviction at his will.

Mrs.Snow and the girls, whose admiration of Miss Butterworth for having dared to invade Mr.Belcher's library was unbounded, dropped their work, and listened with eager attention.

Mr.
Snow opened the gate occasionally to let in a statement, but for the most part kept it closed.