I didn't seem to notice their antics, but went with them downstairs, where I heard the sound of music, which didn't strike me as so sacred as it ought to be. Besides, there was a buzz and a hum like a hive of bees swarming, which was puzzling.
When we went into the great, long room, that seemed running over with light, the crowded state of the congregation astonished me. There wasn't seats enough for one quarter of the worshippers.
Sisters, I was the only one present who had studied the sacred decencies of a bonnet and shawl. The rest were dressed—well, they weren't dressed at all about the arms and shoulders, which shocked me dreadfully; the mere presence of a lot of ministers ought to have made women more decorous.
Would you believe it, the people round the doors stared at me as if they had never seen a beehive bonnet, with feathers floating over it, before.
Some people might have felt shocked at so many eyes turned on them, but I was in the straight and narrow path of duty, and their looks passed by me like the idle wind. If they didn't understand the solemnity of the occasion, I did.
"There is the Minister," says Dempster, "let us pay our respects."
"Why," says I, "there don't seem to be either a reading desk or pulpit here!"
I don't think Dempster heard me, for he began to edge our way through the crowd, till we got clear into the room, which was so full of flowers and lights and music that I began to think the foreign ministers were keeping up Easter-Sunday yet.
A gentleman was standing near the door with some ladies around him. Dempster took us straight up to him.
"Your Excellency," says he, "Miss Frost. Miss Phœmie Frost, of Vermont."