I can give no notion of Mr. Cheriton's manner as he said these words, and the verse following them. They concluded the discourse, which did not take up ten minutes in all. He then finished with a collect and the benediction.
I saw Mrs. Bunnell's good plain face, bright with satisfaction. Poor Master Tubbs in his desk, looked utterly dazed and confounded. Two or three maiden ladies—or so I judged them to be, conferred together, with somewhat sour and indignant faces. Most of the poor women in the free seats seemed pleased, and I saw two of them shake hands, as those who congratulate each other on some delightful event. After a moment's whispered colloquy, they approached the poor creature I have mentioned who sat sobbing in her corner, and after a little talk, they assisted her to rise, arranged her somewhat disordered dress, and led her away still weeping between them.
"Do you see that?" said Mrs. Thorpe, pointing out the group to Mrs. Crump.
"I see—poor thing!" said Mrs. Crump, compassionately. "I am glad to see any one befriend her. To think how I remember that girl—a perfect rose-bud in her poor mother's house—and to see her now trampled, as it were, in the very mire of the streets."
"Who is she?" I ventured to ask.
"One whose name even I would not have you know," said Mrs. Thorpe; "and yet I might make her the text of a sermon. She was one who would needs judge and decide for herself where she would go, and what she would do, and whom she would consort with. She fell into wicked hands, as was to be expected, broke her mother's heart, and brought her gray hairs in sorrow to the grave, was the plaything of an hour to be cast out and trodden under foot of man."
"She must have felt as though the sermon was meant for her," said Mrs. Crump. "I am glad Joan Bristall has taken her up. But what did you think of the sermon?"
"That is more than I can tell you just now," answered Mrs. Thorpe. "I must think it over. I know it came home to me as no sermon ever did before, except Mr. Wesley's the other day at Mrs. Edwards' funeral."
"I thought it savored a good deal of enthusiasm," said Mrs. Cropsey, nervously. "I hope Mr. Cheriton is not going to turn out an enthusiast like Mr. Wesley. What a dreadful thing it would be!"
"What is an enthusiast?" I asked.