“It was a Christmas Eve service in the Second Westcock Church.
“The church at Second Westcock was quaint and old-fashioned, like the village over which it presided. Its shingles were gray with the beating of many winters; its little square tower was surmounted by four spindling posts, like the legs of a table turned heavenward; its staring windows were adorned with curtains of yellow cotton; its uneven and desolate churchyard, strewn with graves and snowdrifts, occupied a bleak hillside looking out across the bay to the lonely height of Shepody Mountain.
“Down the long slope below the church straggled the village, half-lost in the snow, and whistled over by the winds of the Bay of Fundy.
“Second Westcock was an outlying corner of the rector’s expansive parish, and a Christmas Eve service there was an event almost unparalleled. To give Second Westcock this service, the rector had forsaken his prosperous congregations at Westcock, Sackville, and Dorchester, driving some eight or ten miles through the snows and solitude of the deep Dorchester woods.
“And because the choir at Second Westcock was not remarkable even for willingness, much less for strength or skill, he had brought with him his fifteen-year-old niece, Lou Allison, to swell the Christmas praises with the notes of her clarionet.
“The little church was lighted with oil-lamps ranged along the white wall between the windows. The poor, bare chancel—a red cloth-covered kitchen table in a semicircle of paintless railing—was flanked by two towering pulpits of white pine. On either side the narrow, carpetless aisle were rows of unpainted benches.
“On the left were gathered solemnly the men of the congregation, each looking straight ahead. On the right were the women, whispering and scanning each other’s bonnets, till the appearance of the rector from the little vestry-room by the door should bring silence and reverent attention.
“In front of the women’s row stood the melodeon; and the two benches behind it were occupied by the choir, the male members of which sat blushingly self-conscious, proud of their office, but deeply abashed at the necessity of sitting among the women.
“There was no attempt at Christmas decoration, for Second Westcock had never been awakened to the delicious excitements of the church greening.
“At last the rector appeared in his voluminous white surplice. He moved slowly up the aisle, and mounted the winding steps of the right-hand pulpit; and as he did so his five-year-old son, forsaking his place by Lou’s side, marched forward and seated himself resolutely on the pulpit steps. He did not feel quite at home in Second Westcock Church.