They went. The electric car whirled them away to the country. It seemed that but a moment had passed when they found themselves walking up a path shaded by two rows of ancient elms.
“So green the grass!” Jeanne murmured. “So graceful the trees and so strong! And that fine old building of limestone. It is like France, my so beautiful France!
“But listen!”
She paused. From a smaller building with very high windows there floated the words of a song.
“Singing? It is Chapel! Come!” Jeanne seized Jensie by the hand. “Come quick! We will slip into a back seat. It has been so long, oh, so long since I heard such singing.”
As they entered the door all heads were bowed in prayer. Deeply religious, as all the best of her race are, Jeanne bowed her head reverently.
The prayer at an end, six hundred young voices burst into song.
“And how they sing it!” There were tears in Jeanne’s eyes. “They sing what they believe. How very, very wonderful!”
Hidden away in a high-backed seat, they listened to the simple, sincere message of a white-haired professor as he talked to this silent audience of young people about God and His relation to their lives.
Jeanne was strangely silent as she left the place. Perhaps in her mind was a picture of the little stone church in her own land where she had so often knelt in prayer.