Hymn 912 … seven stanzas! horrors! oh! omit the 3d, 5th, and 6th—well, I should hope so!… I can’t hear a thing while this is going on!… He hasn’t come in yet! [pg 174] Scripture reading for to-day—why can’t he give us the passage and let us read it for ourselves?—well, his voice is rather high and uneven, I think I could make out Jonathan’s through the loopholes in it.… There! What was that, I wonder! Sounded like shouting,—oh, why can’t he talk softly! Let us unite in prayer. Ah! now we’ll have a long, quiet time, anyway!… if only he wouldn’t pray quite so loud! Why pray aloud at all, anyway? I like the Quaker way best: a good long strip of silence, where your thoughts can wash around in any fashion that—There! No—yes—no—it’s just people going by on the road.… Maybe he’s in the back of the church now, waiting for the close of the prayer. Seems as if I had to look.… Well, he isn’t.… For thy name’s sake, amen.
And then the collection, with an organ voluntary the while—now why an organ voluntary? Why not leave people to their thoughts some of the time?
And at last, the sermon:—The text to which I wish to call your attention this morning—my attention, forsooth! My attention was otherwise occupied. Ah! A puff of [pg 175] warm, sweet air from behind me, and the soft, padding noise of the swinging doors, apprised me of an incomer. A cautious tread in the aisle—I moved along a little to make room.
In a city church probably I should have thrown propriety to the winds and had the gist of the story out of him at once, but in a country church there are always such listening spaces,—the very pew-backs and cushions seem attentive, the hymnals creak in their racks, and the little stools cry out nervously when one barely touches them. It was too much for me. I was coerced into an outer semblance of decorum. However, I snatched a hasty glance at Jonathan’s face. It was quite red and hot-looking, but calm, very calm, and I judged it to be the calm, not of defeat nor yet of settled militancy, but of triumph. I even thought I detected the flicker of a grin,—the mere atmospheric suggestion of a grin,—as if he felt the urgent if furtive appeal in my glance. At any rate, Jonathan was all right, that was clear. And as to Griz—whether she was still one mare or two half-mares—it didn’t so much matter. [pg 176] And now for the sermon! I gathered myself to attend.
As we stood up for the last hymn, I whispered, “How did it go?”
“All right. She’s hitched,” was the answer.
After church there was the usual stir of sociability, and when I emerged into the glare of the church steps, I saw Jonathan driving slowly around from the rear. Griz walked meekly, her head sagged, her eyes blinked.
“Good quiet little horse you’ve got there,” said a deacon over my shoulder; “don’t get restless standing, the way some horses do.”
“Yes, she’s very quiet,” I said.
I got in, and at last, as we drove off, the flood-gates of my impatience broke:—