"Those that take a high stand do," says she.
"Well," says I, "we won't talk that over just now. But whose boys were those that swung the lamps and stood round the altar?"
"Oh, those were the acolytes."
"Any relations to the boys we saw at morning service?" says I.
"Oh, they are all the same."
"Mercy on me!" says I; "what a large family of boys—and so near of an age, too!"
E. E. lifted her head and gave me the ghost of a smile—that was all. I believe she felt that talking was a sin just then, and I felt a little that way myself.
"That music was splendid," says I, "and the flowers. I don't think I ever was in any meeting-house that seemed so close to heaven. But then I always had a hankering after such things. And why not? If God gives us music and flowers, light and sweet odors, can it be wrong to render them back to him? Cousin, I never knew what power there was in such things till now."
"Phœmie," says she—and a queer smile came over her face—"I shouldn't wonder if you go back, at last, a High Church woman. Then what would the Society say?"
I felt myself turning red—as if I, Phœmie Frost, could change in the religion of my forefathers!