No one was in sight. The hush and emptiness outside were forbidding.
“It’s begun!” announced Blue.
“Won’t they let us in?” Doodles whispered tremulously.
“Sure!” was the brave assertion—out of a dismayed heart.
They halted hesitantly, when up popped—seemingly from nowhere—an automaton, dressed in Sabbath dignity and an unsmiling face.
The doors swung silently open, and they were inside. Doodles lifted his eyes, and his fingers almost forgot their clasp. It was so different from his pictures! The rich, subdued light; the great auditorium, with its beautifully wrought pillars, peopled from altar to entrance; the sweet, thrilling undertone of the organ; the reverent stillness of the waiting throng;—it stirred his soul to awe.
Directly they were seated, in the second pew from the door, and Doodles was free to gaze about him. The vast strangeness of the place bewildered his little home-kept heart, and he reached out his hand for his brother’s.
“Tired?” whispered Blue.
“Not much,” his lips smiled, yet Blue’s arm was a grateful support, and he leaned back in content.
Roses and music were born for each other, and it was only fitting that with the first note from the choir the eyes of Doodles should catch the glory of the altar—a bank of ferns and red roses. Thus came the twofold feast, and the rapture of it would never wholly pass away.