Stands like a palace built for God,
was triumphantly hurled at her through those discordant voices, she could hardly keep her sad lips from curling into a sarcastic smile, as she thought of the cracked and smoky walls, the dreadful curtains, the dust and disorder.
"A palace built for God!" her heart said in disdain, almost in disgust. "It isn't a decent stopping-place for a respectable man."
Then her momentary inclination to smile yielded to genuine indignation. What possible excuse could be offered for such a state of things? Why did respectable people permit such a disgrace? She had seen at least the outside of several of the homes in South Plains, and nothing like the disorder and desolation which reigned here, was permitted about those homes. How could Christian people think they were honoring God by meeting for his worship in a place that would have made the worst housekeeper among them blush for shame had it been her own home.
Indignation helped her through the hymn, and with bowed head and throbbing heart, she tried, during the prayer, to come into accord with the spirit of worship.
But the whole service was one to be remembered as connected with a weary and nearly fruitless struggle with wayward thoughts. What was the burden of the sermon? She tried in vain afterwards to recall it.
A series of well-meant and poorly expressed platitudes. "Nothing wrong about it," thought poor Claire, "except the sin of calling it the gospel, and reading it off to these sleepy people as though he really thought it might do them some good!"
Indeed, the minister was almost sleepy himself, or else utterly discouraged. Claire tried to rouse herself to a little interest in him, to wonder whether he were a down-hearted, disappointed man. His coat was seedy, his collar limp and his cuffs frayed at the edges.
Yes, these were actually some of the things she thought while he said his sermon over to them!