“I usually go to prayer meeting,” said Ezra Dameron to Zelda, one Thursday evening shortly after her home-coming.
“Yes, father.”
She hesitated a moment. She had gone to church with him on Sunday as a matter of course, and she debated now whether to offer to go to the prayer meeting. Her decision was formed suddenly.
“Your mother usually went with me,” her father said.
“I don’t remember. But I should like to go. I shall be ready whenever you are.”
“I shall be glad to have you go when you like. Of course a young woman often has conflicting engagements. Don’t feel bound to go when more tempting things present themselves. I find a certain rest in a mid-week hour of praise and meditation.”
He bowed his head a trifle, as was his way in saying something he wished to make impressive.
“Yes; I should think that would be so,” said Zelda.
They walked together to the church, where the prayer meeting was held in the Sunday-school room. There were not more than twenty people present, most of them elderly persons. A few young people came, but Zelda did not know them. One was the president of the Christian Endeavor Society; the others were teachers in the Sunday-school.
The pastor, the Reverend Arthur Martin, was a young man, without perceptible phylactery of his calling. He wore a gray sack-coat and a blue four-in-hand tie, and was very good-looking. He read from the Bible and prayed. A hymn followed, and everybody sang, except Zelda. An old gentleman—one of the elders—commented on the passage of Scripture; then prayer was offered by another member of the congregation. The services were simple and unpretentious and had the interest of novelty for Zelda.