He was a comfortable-looking man, with a double chin and light, spare whiskers. His upper lip shone from frequent shaving. He did not wear his robe, but a simple black coat; nevertheless, he looked very dignified and solemn.
He first spoke a long prayer on the text, “Suffer little children to come unto Me,” and added an exhortation to consider the coming year as a time of consecration, not to romp wildly or to dance, for that would not be in keeping with a student of religion.
“I have never romped or danced,” thought Paul, and for a moment he was filled with pride over his pious conduct. “But it was a pity all the same—” he thought afterwards.
Then the vicar praised as the highest of all Christian virtues: humility. None of these children should feel above the others because their parents happened to be richer and more distinguished than those of their humbler brethren and sisters, because before God’s throne they were all equal.
“That’s for you,” thought Paul, and lovingly seized the arm of his ragged neighbor. The latter thought he wanted to pinch him, and said, “Ow, don’t!”
Then the vicar took from his pocket a piece of paper, and said, “Now I will read you the order of rank in which you will have to sit henceforth.”
“Why this order of rank,” thought Paul, “if before God’s throne we are all equal?”
The very first name startled Paul, for it was “Elsbeth Douglas.” He saw a tall, pale girl, with a gentle face and fair hair smoothly combed back, rise and walk towards the first place.
“So that’s you,” thought Paul, “and we shall be confirmed together.” His heart beat with joy, but also with fear, because he was anxious at the same time lest she should think him too much beneath her. “Perhaps she does not remember me any more,” he thought.
He watched her as she took her seat with downcast eyes and a kind smile.