“Most of the parishioners live now a long way from here,” said the chauffeur, “but they love the church because they are the descendants of the original founders, and they come from great distances to the morning services and stay to Sunday School, old people and young ones, too, and cook their dinner in the Parish House.”
“That sounds like a New England village church to which all the farmers from around about come for the day,” said Margaret Hancock. “I used to see them when I was a little girl and we went to New Hampshire for the summer. They bring their lunch and eat it under the trees between services.”
“Since we seem to be doing churches, we ought to go to a Quaker Meeting House,” suggested Mrs. Morton, turning to the chauffeur for information.
“There is one up on 12th Street, madam,” he responded. “There’s a boys’ school connected with it that is very well known—the Penn Charter School. Lots of the old Quaker families send their boys there still.”
“I don’t suppose there would be a meeting to-day,” inquired Helen.
The chauffeur shook his head.
“You wouldn’t like it, any way,” he said. “I’m a Quaker myself, and I know when I was your age it was awfully hard work to keep still so long.”
“Is it worse than any other kind of church?” asked Dicky.
The driver nodded again, dexterously avoiding a big truck as he answered.
“The congregation just sits there until the Spirit moves someone to speak. I’ve been there many a time when they sat for two hours and nothing happened at all.”