People were flocking in at the doors, and the young Americans went with them.
It was like entering a great, dimly-lighted cavern. All the walls and pillars and ceiling were glowing with soft, dark crimson and golden colors. The church was crowded with worshipers, not only on the main floor, but in two immense galleries, one above the other. At the further end was the high altar and the figure of the crucified Saviour, beneath which the priests were conducting the service of the Roman Catholic Church. One could just hear their deep voices, mingling with the music of the choir and organ.
In front of the travelers was a swarthy Indian, with long, glossy black hair. Little children knelt on the marble pavement in the midst of the crowd. Members of wealthy French families passed down the aisle to their pews. All around were poor people, many of them following the service with their prayer-books.
Leaving Notre Dame, the Percivals turned their steps to St. George’s Church near the hotel, where there was an Episcopal service, and a good sermon by a bluff, hearty Scotchman, one of whose phrases clung to Tom’s memory for many a day.
“If you know of anything you ought to do,” said the good rector, “don’t sit down and think about it, but do ut!”
“‘Do ut!’” repeated Tom to himself as he left the church with the rest. “That’s a good motto for me, any way. ‘Do ut!’”
A quiet drive around Mount Royal—giving them a glorious view of Montreal—filled the afternoon.
As they looked down on the multitude of roofs and steeps, Mr. Percival reminded them that it was the chief city of Canada, with a population about half as large as that of Boston. In 1535 it was a little Indian village called Hochelaga, which was in that year visited by Jacques Cartier. Two hundred and fifty years ago, the French established a trading-post here, and its business has grown, until to-day its docks are lined with warehouses, its river front shows the black hulls of great ocean steamers, and railroads converge from east, west and south.
We will close this first chapter with an extract from Kittie’s letter to Susie Martin, written late Monday afternoon.