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In due time the services commenced, and regularly progressed to their conclusion, the minister preaching a very close sermon. The solemn and impressive communion service followed, and then the members went up to partake of the sacred emblems. But Aunt Mary did not go up as usual. She could not, for she was not in love and charity with her neighbours. This was noticed by many, and particularly by the minister, who lingered after all had successively approached the table and retired, repeating his invitation, while his eye was fixed upon Aunt Mary.

“What can be the matter?” asked Mrs. Peabody of Mrs. Beebe, the moment she got outside of the church door. “Aunt Mary didn’t go up.”

“Indeed! It can’t be possible?”

“Yes, but it is. For I sat just behind her all the time. She seemed very uneasy, and I thought troubled. She hardly looked up during the sermon, and hurried away, without speaking to any one, as soon as the congregation was dismissed at the close of the communion service. What can be the matter?”

“It is strange, indeed!” responded Mrs. Green, who came up while Mrs. Peabody was speaking.

“I took notice myself that she did not go up.”

“I wonder if she has done any thing wrong?”

“Oh, no!”

“Then what can be the matter?”

“I would give any thing to know!”

“Something is wrong, that is certain,” remarked one of the little crowd, for the group of two or three had swelled to as many dozens.

Many were the suggestions made in reference to Aunt Mary’s conduct; and, before Sabbath evening, there was not one of, the members that did not know and wonder at her strange omission.

After Aunt Mary returned from church, she felt even worse than before. A sacred privilege had been deliberately omitted, and all because she had let unkindness spring up between herself and her neighbour.

“And yet how could I help it?” she argued with herself. “I was tired out of all patience. I only sent for my own, and because I did so, Mrs. Tompkins became offended. I am sure I was not to blame.”

“But then,” said another voice within her, “you could have gone over on Saturday and made up the matter with her, and then there would have been nothing in the way. One duty neglected only opened the way for another.”

There was something in this that could not be gainsaid, and poor Aunt Mary felt as deeply troubled as ever. She did not, as usual, go to the afternoon meeting, for she had no heart to do so. And then, as the shades of evening fell dimly around, she reproached herself for this omission. Poor soul! how sadly did she vex her spirit by self-condemnation.

That evening several of the society called in at the minister’s house, and soon Aunt Mary’s singular conduct became the subject of conversation.

“Ain’t it strange?” said one. “Such a thing has not occurred for these ten years, to my certain knowledge.”

“No, nor for twenty either,” remarked the minister.

“She seemed very uneasy during the sermon,” said another.

“I thought she did not appear well, as my eye fell upon her occasionally,” the minister added. “But she is one of the best of women, and I suppose she is undergoing some sore temptation, out of which she will come as gold tried in the fire.”

“I don’t know,” broke in Mrs. Tompkins, who was among the visitors, “that she is so much better than other people. For my part, I can’t say that I ever found her to be any thing extra.”

“You do not judge of her kindly, Mrs. Tompkins,” said the minister gravely. “I only wish that all my parish were as good as she is. I should feel, in that case, I am sure, far less concern for souls than I do.”

Thus rebuked, Mrs. Tompkins contented herself by saying, in an under-tone, to one who sat near her–

“They may say what they please, but I am well enough acquainted with her to know that she is no better than other people.”