The service ended, and the people scattered, but the organist played on, and the boy choir regathered, but less formally.
"What is it?" we asked of the verger, who was preparing to close the doors.
"There will be a funeral of one of the oldest members of the congregation to-morrow, and they are about to go through the music of the office."
Suddenly a rich bass voice, strong in conviction, trumpeted forth—"I am the resurrection and the life!" And only a stone's throw away jingled the money market of the western world. The temple and the table of the money changers keep step as of old. Ah, wonderful New York!
* * * * *
The afternoon was clear staccato and mild withal, and the sun, almost at setting, lingered above orange and dim cloud banks at the end of the vista Broadway made.
"Are you tired? Can you walk half a dozen blocks?" asked Evan of Miss
Lavinia, as we came out.
"No, quite the reverse; I think that I am electrified," she replied briskly.
"Then we will go to Battery Park," he said, turning south.
"Battery Park, where all the immigrants and roughs congregate! What an idea! We shall catch smallpox or have our pockets picked!"