"It looks as if it had just been ironed," Sarah silently commented. When Mrs. Clyde called to the girls that it was time to go over to Camp Judson, Miss Blake was nowhere to be found.
The church service was held in the "Druid's Grove," a place of mingled shade and sunshine, where a little tumbling creek was the only accompaniment to the hymns, and the birds trilled an obligato. An old tree-stump served as pulpit, and here Dr. Judson talked rather than preached to his youthful congregation.
Blue Bonnet, listening to him, unconsciously let her eyes wander, as they always did in the church at Woodford, in search of the memorial window 'Sacred to the memory of Elizabeth Clyde Ashe' that was inseparably linked in her mind with religious service. Instead of the figure of the Good Shepherd with the lamb in his arms, the branches of the live oaks here formed a Gothic arch, in the shadow of which sat Mrs. Judson with little Joe asleep on her lap. The look on the mother's face was full of the same brooding tenderness that the artist had given to the eyes of the Shepherd of Old.
When they rose to sing, the young voices rang out clear and joyous, quite unlike the droning that too often passes for singing in a grown-up congregation.
| "Bright youth and snow-crowned age, |
| Strong men and maidens meek: |
| Raise high your free, exulting song! |
| God's wondrous praises speak! |
"With all the angel choirs, |
| With all the saints of earth, |
| Pour out the strains of joy and bliss, |
| True rapture, noblest mirth!" |
The stirring verses, sung with a will by every one, seemed to soar to the very tree-tops, making the branches sway with the rhythm and spirit of the hymn.
Blue Bonnet heaved a sigh of regret as they rose to leave the grove. "It's so sweet,—I wish it could last all day."
"I don't remember ever having heard you make a remark like that about church before," remarked Kitty.
"I don't care much for anything that's held indoors," Blue Bonnet confessed. "And I don't like preachers who make their voices sound like the long-stop on an organ. Now that last hymn we sang makes me fairly bubble inside."
"Don't let Sarah hear you say that. She seems to think one ought to draw a long face on the Sabbath,—a sort of 'world-without-end' expression, you know. I believe she thinks it almost wicked to be happy on Sunday."