Then, just as the church bell rang its preliminary summons for the assembling of the town-meeting, Phipps came to the door again with the rakish grays and the rakish wagon, and Mr.Belcher drove down the steep hill into the village, exchanging pleasant words with the farmers whom he encountered on the way, and stopping at various shops, to speak with those upon whom he depended for voting through whatever public schemes he found it desirable to favor.
The old town-hall was thronged for half-an-hour before the time designated in the warrant.

Finally, the bell ceased to ring, at the exact moment when Mr.Belcher drove to the door and ascended the steps.
There was a buzz all over the house when he entered, and he was surrounded at once.
"Have it just as you want it," shaking his head ostentatiously and motioning them away, "don't mind anything about me.

I'm a passenger," he said aloud, and with a laugh, as the meeting was called to order and the warrant read, and a nomination for moderator demanded.
"Peter Vernol," shouted a dozen voices in unison.
Peter Vernol had represented the district in the Legislature, and was supposed to be familiar with parliamentary usage.

He was one of Mr.
Belcher's men, of course--as truly owned and controlled by him as Phipps himself.
Peter Vernol became moderator by acclamation.

He was a young man, and, ascending the platform very red in the face, and looking out upon the assembled voters of Sevenoaks, he asked with a trembling voice: "What is the further pleasure of the meeting ?" "I move you," said Mr.Belcher, rising, and throwing open his overcoat, "that the Rev.Solomon Snow, whom I am exceedingly glad to see present, open our deliberations with prayer." The moderator, forgetting apparently that the motion had not been put, thereupon invited the reverend gentleman to the platform, from which, when his service had been completed, he with dignity retired--but with the painful consciousness that in some way Mr.Belcher had become aware of the philanthropic task he had undertaken.