I
don't know why. Perhaps it is to complete our view of the congregation,
since during the rest of the time we look the other way, and, unless we
faced about, should see only half. I like to peep at father, to discover
whether he appreciates the performance. To-day he just turned his head
away. Mother sat down. Aunt Clara looked straight ahead, and her
old-fashioned bonnet hid her face; but I could discover that something
more than usual was working under her cap. I looked at every one of the
singers, and then at the players, from the big bass-viol down to the
tenor, and not a bit of reason could I perceive for the twitter the
heads of our pew had certainly got themselves into. There's a pattern
old lady, Prudence Clark, presidentess of the Dorcas Society,--a
spinster, just Aunt Clara's age,--a woman who knows everything, and more
too. She sits in the pew before us. She turned her head and gave a sly
peep at Aunt Clara. They both laughed in meeting. I know they did, and
they can't deny it. I peeped round at the minister, and, if he did not
laugh too, his face was scarlet, and he was taken with a wonderful fit
of coughing. Such strange proceedings in meeting I never had seen. The
minister, the deacon (father is a deacon), and the oldest members were
setting us young folks a very bad example.
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