CHAPTER VII
"MOVING TO MELODY"
The first Sunday that Angus McRae drove along the lake shore and up to the church with Lawyer Ed's partner sitting at his side, he was praying, all the way, to be delivered from the sin of pride. They left Aunt Kirsty at home as usual, with her Bible and her hymn-book, for the poor lady had grown so stout that she could not be lifted into buggy or boat or conveyance of any kind. They started early, but stopped so often on the road that they were none the earlier in arriving. For Angus must needs pause at the McDuff home, to see that young Peter was ready for church, and that old Peter was thoroughly sobered. And there was a huge bouquet of Aunt Kirsty's asters to be left at Billy Perkins's for the little girl who was sick. There were sounds of strife in Mike Cassidy's home too, and Angus dismounted and went in to reason with Mike and the wife on the incongruity of throwing the dishes at each other, when they had spent the morning at mass.
So when the Good Samaritan had attended to all on the Jericho Road there was not much time left, and the church bells were ringing when they drove under the green tunnel of Elm Street; the Anglican, high, resonant and silvery, the Presbyterian, with a slow, deep boom, and between the two, and harmonising with both, the mellow, even roll of the Methodist bell. The call of the bells was being given a generous obedience, for already the streets were crowded with people. From the hills to the north and the west, from the level plain to the south they came, on foot, and in buggies. Even the people who lived across the lake or away down the shore were there, some having crossed the water in boats or launches. This means of conveyance, however, was regarded with some disfavour, as it too perilously resembled Sunday boating. The matter had even been brought up in the session by Mr. McPherson, who declared he objected to it, for there was no good reason why Christian people could not walk on the earth the Almighty had provided for them, on the Sabbath day.
Roderick put away the horse into the shed, smiling tenderly when he found his father waiting at the gate for him. He wanted to walk around to the church door with his boy, so that they might meet his friends together. They were received in a manner worthy of the occasion, for the four elders who were ushering all left their posts and came forward to greet Angus McRae, knowing something of what a great day in his life this Sabbath was. J. P. Thornton and Jock McPherson ushered on one side of the church, Lawyer Ed and Captain McTavish on the other, a very fitting arrangement, which mingled the old and the new schools. Only Lawyer Ed could never be kept in his own place, but ran all over the church and ushered wheresoever he pleased.
The elders of Algonquin Presbyterian church were at their best when showing the people to their seats on a Sabbath morning. Each man did it in a truly characteristic manner. Captain Jimmie received the worshippers in a breezy fashion, as though the church were the Inverness and he were calling every one to come aboard and have a bit run on the lake and a cup-a-tea, whatever. Mr. McPherson shook hands warmly with the old folk, but kept the young people in their places, and well did every youngster know that did he not conduct himself in the sanctuary with becoming propriety, the cane the elder carried would likely come rapping down smartly on his unrighteous knuckles. J. P. Thornton's welcome was kindly but stately. He had grown stout and slightly pompous-looking during the passing years, and his fine, well-dressed figure lent quite an air of dignity to the whole church. But Lawyer Ed, ushering a stranger into the church, was a heart-warming sight. He seemed made for the part. He met one half-way down the steps with outstretched hands, marched him to the best seat in the place, even if he had to dislodge one of the leading families to do it, thrust a Bible and a hymn-book into his hand, and enquired if he were sure he would be comfortable, all in a manner that made the newcomer feel as if the Algonquin church had been erected, a minister and ciders appointed, and a congregation assembled all for the express purpose of edifying him on this particular Sabbath morning.
He captured Angus McRae and showed him to his seat this morning with a happy bustle, for his pride and joy in the Lad's return was only second to his own father's. Roderick sat beside his father in their old pew near the rear of the church, gazing about him happily at the familiar scene. The people were filling up the aisles, with a soft hushed rustle. There was Fred Hamilton and his father, and Dr. Archie Blair and his family. Dr. Blair was rarely too busy to get to church on a Sunday morning, though he made a loud pretence of being very irreligious. It was rumoured that he carried a volume of Burns to church in his pocket instead of a Bible, a tale which the Doctor enjoyed immensely and took care not to contradict. There was a silken rustle at Roderick's right hand, a breath of perfume, and Leslie Graham, in a wonderful rose silk dress and big plumed hat, came up the aisle, followed by her father and mother. The Grahams were the most fashionable people in the church, and Mr. Graham was the only man who wore a high silk hat. He had been the first to wear the frock coat, but while many had followed his example in this regard, he was the only man who had, as yet, gone the length of the silk hat. Of course, Doctor Leslie had one, but every one felt that it was quite correct for a minister to wear such a thing. It was part of the clerical garb, and anyway he wore it only at weddings and funerals, showing it belonged to the office, rather than to the man. So Alexander Graham's millinery was looked upon with some disfavour. He was a quiet man though, sensitive and retiring, and not given to vain display, and people felt that the sin of the silk hat very likely lay at the door of his fashionable wife and daughter.
The Grahams were no sooner seated than Leslie turned her handsome head, and glancing across the church towards Roderick, gave him a brilliant smile. But the young man did not catch the gracious favour; he was looking just then at a group passing up the aisle to a seat almost in front of him; Grandma Armstrong moving very slowly on her eldest daughter's arm, Miss Annabel in a youthful blue silk dress, and behind them a girlish figure in a white gown with a wealth of shining hair gleaming from beneath her wide hat.
Helen Murray had come to church this first Sunday with some fear. Her father's voice spoke to her yet in every minister's tones, and the place and the hour were all calculated to bring up memories hard to bear in public. She was just seated between Grandma and Miss Annabel when the former pulled her sleeve and enquired if she did not think the new gladiators very pretty. The girl followed the old lady's eyes and saw they were indicating the shiny brass electroliers suspended from the ceiling. In happier days Helen had found laughter very easy. Her sense of humour had not been deadened by sorrow, it was only in abeyance, and now she felt it stirring into life. The little incident made her look around with interest. Certainly the Algonquin church was not a place calculated to make one indulge in melancholy. The Presbyterian congregation was a virile one, bright and friendly and full of energy, and with very few exceptions, every one was at least fairly well off. With the aid of a generous expenditure of money they had expressed their congregational life in the decoration of the church; so the place was comfortable and well lighted, and exceedingly bright in colouring. Around three sides ran a gallery with an ornamental railing, tinted pink. The walls were the same colour, except for a bright green dado beneath the gallery, and the vaulted ceiling was decorated with big bouquets of flowers in a shade of pink and green slightly deeper than the walls and the dado. The carpet and the cushions—every inch of the floor was carpeted and every pew cushioned—were a warm bright crimson to match the organ pipes. The high Gothic windows were of brilliant stained glass, which, when the morning sun shone, threw a riot of colour over the worshippers. And indeed everything was warm and bright and shining, from the glittering new electroliers suspended from the pink ceiling, to the crimson baize doors which swung inward so hospitably at one's approach.