Quickly surfeited by the only half-understood humor of a song describing the sale of a dead horse, she wandered on, and soon came across the preacher and his lay helpers.
To her surprise she saw John Bolland standing bareheaded in the front rank, and with him Martin. She had never pictured the keen-eyed, crusty old farmer in this guise. It amused her. The minister began to offer up a prayer. The men hid their faces in their hats, the women bowed reverently, and fervent ejaculations punctuated each pause in the preacher’s appeal.
“I do believe!”
“Amen! Amen!”
“Spare us, O Lord!”
Mrs. Saumarez stared at the gathering with real wonderment.
“C’est incroyable!” she murmured.
“What are they doing, mamma?” cried Angèle, trying to guess why Martin had buried his eyes in his cap.
“They are praying, dearest. It reminds one of the Covenanters. It really is very touching.”