"Who lives here?" said Mr. Simlins.
But Faith held her breath.
"There's mortality here, where I thought there was nothing but animals and vegetation," said Mr. Simlins stepping softly and cautiously forward. "Let's see—don't make no noise more'n the leaves 'll let you. I shouldn't think anything would come to a meetin' here but a wood-chuck—and they're skeered if they see a shadow."
On that side the trees ceased abruptly, and the open sunshine of a little clearing replaced them; and there were the speakers.
Tallest among the group sat Mr. Linden, and around him—in various attitudes of rest or attention—a dozen boys basked in the sunshine. Most of them were a size or two smaller than his morning class at the Sunday school, though several of those were stretched on the grass at the outskirts of the circle, as honorary members. Little Johnny Fax, established in Mr. Linden's lap, divided his attention pretty evenly between the lesson and the teacher; though indeed to his mind the separate interests did not clash.
The little glade was very green still, but sprinkled with the autumn leaves which came floating down at every breath; and the bordering trees stood some in deep green hemlock and some in paler pine, and thrust out here and there a glowing arm into the sunlight. The boys—listening and looking,—some playing the part of young Nebuchadnezzars, some picking and breaking up the asters and golden rod within their reach,—giving little side nods of assent to each other, or bending a more earnest gaze on Mr. Linden; pushing back their caps—or pulling them down with a quick brush across the eyes;—the hand with which Johnny Fax stroked back from Mr. Linden's forehead any stray lock of hair which the wind displaced, or laid on his shoulder when there was nothing else to do;—made altogether a picture the like of which Mr. Simlins had not seen before—nor even Faith. The sun might leave the clearing and betake itself to the tree-tops, and thence to the clouds,—there was light there which came from a higher source.
Not Faith's silent attention was more silent and motionless than that of her companion; he did not move or stir. But her deep, deep, rapt gravity formed part of the subject of his contemplations, for one or two keen sidelong glances fell upon it. Else, his eyes were busy uninterruptedly with the scene and took in the whole effect of it; hers hardly wavered from one point.
A little stir among the boys roused both the lookers-on from their muse; but they stood still again at the first notes of a hymn—as Mr. Linden's deep voice began, and the young choir with its varied treble chimed in.
"I want to be an angel,
And with the angels stand,
A crown upon my forehead,
A harp within my hand;
There, right before my Saviour,
So glorious and so bright,
I'd wake the sweetest music,
And praise him day and night.
"I never should be weary,
Nor ever shed a tear,
Nor ever know a sorrow,
Nor ever feel a fear;
But blessed, pure, and holy,
I'd dwell in Jesus' sight,
And with ten thousand thousand
Praise him both day and night.