And poor Jabez went home, feeling that the weight of responsibility for some great national disaster rested on his shoulders. His wife, “Huldy,” had remarkable success in making Jabez feel that he was guilty, even when innocent.
CHAPTER XI.
THE SURF–BOY.
The bright colors of October had faded out of the landscape, and the soft shades of November followed. With November, came the festival of “All Saints’,” reminding us of another life, and of those who are with Christ. Not only are those eminent in the Church suggested to us,—“apostles,” “martyrs,” “confessors,” the constellations in the sky, recognized by all,—but how many separate stars better known to us personally, look down through the shadows of death’s night, and cheer us in our pilgrim journey! These are our own beloved dead, whose bright faces smile upon us, and assure us that we are not forgotten. May we not forget them, and may we prove our memory in our better lives. “All Saints’” passed, and the sharper days of November arrived at The Harbor.
Walter’s duties at his Uncle Boardman’s had been steadily continued, varied by occasional gaps of leisure; and these he had filled up with home visits. Sunday also was a big, blessed gap of leisure, and each Sunday night had brought its service at the Hall. The attendance had been good. Mr. Raynham was earnest, while reverent in his conduct of the service; and the “choir”—how that had distinguished itself! The “Cantate Domino,” “Benedic, anima mea,” and other chants, they took up enthusiastically, and lifted them very high on their soaring wings of song.
“They make nothin’ of singin’ ’em,” affirmed Aunt Lydia; which translated meant that they made something of them; for promptness and heartiness are never without a result, though the melody may not be the sweetest.
Sunday over, Walter went again to his usual duties in the store.