There are many panes of glass out of the windows, the panels of the doors are out; so better they can see the clouds pass: it is beautiful.
Oh, naught have I either, nor wisdom, nor fine speech—only a little knowledge of shipwreck out yonder, and mirth, and tears, and love. The windows and panels of my life are no strong plate, polished and glittering to all beholders; they are stained and broken through. Let me come in and sit with ye.
"We should like to open our meetin' with singin'," said Superintendent Skates; "will one of the Pointers lead us in singin'?"
The Pointers were the aristocrats of this region, living twelve miles away at the Point, in the midst of two grocery stores and a millinery establishment; there were two of them here for a Sunday drive and pastime. They were silent.
"I see," said Elder Skates patiently, "that a few of the Crooked Rivers have drove down to-day, too. Will one of the Crooked Rivers lead us in singin'?"
Lower down in the scale than the Pointers were they of Crooked River, but still far above the Basins; those present were not singers, they were silent.
"Then will one of the Capers lead us in singin'?" very meekly and patiently persisted Elder Skates.
Nearer, and of low degree, were they of the Cape, but still above the Basins. They were silent.
"I know," said Elder Skates, his subdued tone buoyant now with an undertone of hope, "that one of the Basins will lead us in singin'!"
For the Basins had reached those cheerful depths where there is no social or artistic status to maintain; so low as to be expected to do, or attempt to do, whatever might be asked of them, even though failure plunged them, if possible, in deeper depths of abasement. There was nothing beneath them except the Artichokes; and it was seldom, very seldom, an Artichoke was present.