“Happen it’ll be an hour well spent, ma’am,” he said quietly. “Admission is by membership ticket, but t’ minister gev’ me a few ‘permits’ for outside friends, an’ I’ll fill yan in for ye wi’ pleasure.”
He produced some slips of paper bearing the written words, “Admit Brother” or “Sister ——,” and signed, “Eli Todd.” With a stubby pencil he scrawled “Saumarez” in a blank space. The lady thanked him, and gave some instructions in French to Françoise. Five minutes later “Sister Saumarez,” escorted by “Brother” and “Sister” Bolland, entered the village meetinghouse.
The appearance of a fashionable dame in their midst created a mild sensation among the small congregation already collected. They were mostly old or middle-aged people; youngsters were conspicuous by their absence. There was a dance that night in a tent erected in a field close to the chapel; in the boxing booth the semi-final round would be fought for the Elmsdale championship. Against these rival attractions the Gospel was not a “draw.”
Gradually the spacious but bare room—so unlike all that Mrs. Saumarez knew of churches—became fairly well filled. As the church clock chimed the half-hour after six the Rev. Eli Todd came in from a neighboring classroom. This was the preacher with the powerful voice, but his bell-like tones were subdued and reverent enough in the opening prayer. He uttered a few earnest sentences and quickly evoked responses from the people. The first time John Bolland cried “Amen!” Mrs. Saumarez started. She thought her friend had made a mistake, and her nerves were on edge. But the next period produced a hearty “Hallelujah!” and others joined in with “Glory be!” “Thy will, O Lord!” and kindred ejaculations.
One incident absolutely amazed her. The minister was reciting the Lord’s Prayer.
“Give us this day our daily bread,” he said.
“And no baccy, Lord!” growled a voice from the rear of the chapel.
The minister had a momentary difficulty in concluding the petition, and a broad grin ran through the congregation. Mrs. Saumarez learned subsequently that the interrupter was a converted poacher, who abandoned his pipe, together with gun and beer jug, “when he found Christ.” Eli Todd was a confirmed smoker, and the two were ever at variance on the point.
All stood up when their pastor gave out the opening verses of a hymn:
O what a joyful meeting there,
In robes of white arrayed;
Palms in our hands we all shall bear
And crowns upon our heads.