The little crumbling church was open to the beauty of the morning, and John Gaston had decked it within with every flowering thing he could gather from wood and meadow.
Jock came early and stood in one of the narrow doors of the church, opening upon the highway. His hands were plunged in his pockets, and a look of concentration was on his handsome face.
He was going to "set," so he thought, his baby parson on to Jude. There was excitement in the idea. While he stood there Gaston came and took his stand at the other narrow door. The architect of the St. Angé church had had ideas of propriety in regard to established rules.
"Looks—some! don't it?" Jock asked.
"Yes," Gaston replied; "I was bound to have it look as wedding-like as possible."
"You did the decorating?" Jock asked, and a curious frown settled between his eyes. "I thought it was the women."
"They're thinking of themselves. Is your parson on to the game, Filmer?"
"He's all right. Gone off to commune with Nater. There he is now."
Drew had entered the rear door, and went at once to the small bare pulpit.
"Umph!" whispered Gaston. "Looks like a picture of John the Baptist."