On Christmas Day In The Evening

George Tomlinson came heavily out of his pew. He had at last succeeded in getting rid of the frog in his throat -- or thought he had. It had occurred to him that perhaps he ought to go up and speak to Elder Blake -- now sitting quietly in his chair, with William Sewall bending over him -- though he didn't know exactly what to say that would seem adequate to the occasion.

At the same moment, Asa Fraser, still struggling with the cold in his head, emerged from his pew, directly opposite. The two men did not look at each other. But as they had been accustomed to allow their meeting glances to clash with the cutting quality of implacable resentment, this dropping of the eyes on the part of each might have been interpreted to register a distinct advance toward peace.