It was not often that such a virgin parish could be found nowadays , with scores of impressionable , unspoiled souls on which fervid oratory could play skillfully , as a master on a mighty organ , until every note in them thrilled to life and utterance . The Rev. Geoffrey Mountain was a good man ; of the earth , earthy , to be sure , but with an unquestionable sincerity of belief and purpose which went far to counterbalance the sensationalism of some of his methods . He was large and handsome , with a marvelously sweet and winning voice -- a voice that could melt into irresistible tenderness , or swell into sonorous appeal and condemnation , or ring like a trumpet calling to battle . His frequent grammatical errors , and lapses into vulgarity , counted for nothing against its charm , and the most commonplace words in the world would have borrowed much of the power of real oratory from its magic . He knew its value and used it effectively -- perhaps even ostentatiously . Geoffrey Mountain 's religion and methods , like the man himself , were showy , but , of their kind , sincere , and , though the good he accomplished might not be unmixed , it was a quantity to be reckoned with . So the Rev. Geoffrey Mountain came to Avonlea , conquering and to conquer . Night after night the church was crowded with eager listeners , who hung breathlessly on his words and wept and thrilled and exulted as he willed . Into many young souls his appeals and warnings burned their way , and each night they rose for prayer in response to his invitation . Older Christians , too , took on a new lease of intensity , and even the unregenerate and the scoffers found a certain fascination in the meetings . Threading through it all , for old and young , converted and unconverted , was an unacknowledged feeling for religious dissipation . Avonlea was a quiet place , -- and the revival meetings were lively . When David and Mary Bell reached the church the services had begun , and they heard the refrain of a hallelujah hymn as they were crossing Harmon Andrews ' field . David Bell left his wife at the platform and drove to the horse-shed . Mrs. Bell unwound the scarf from her bonnet and shook the frost crystals from it . In the porch Flora Jane Fletcher and her sister , Mrs. Harmon Andrews , were talking in low whispers . Presently Flora Jane put out her lank , cashmere-gloved hand and plucked Mrs. Bell 's shawl . `` Mary , is the elder going to testify to-night ? '' she asked , in a shrill whisper . Mrs. Bell winced .
She would have given much XXXXX be able to answer `` Yes , '' but she had to say stiffly , `` I do n't know . ''
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