"The Fernald family alone will fill the church," observed the bachelor
son of the house, Ralph. He leaned out from his place at the tail of the
procession to look ahead down the line, where the dark figures showed
clearly against the snow. By either hand he held a child--his sister
Carolyn's oldest, his brother Edson's youngest. "So it won't matter much
if nobody else comes out. We're all here--'some in rags, and some in
tags, and some in velvet gowns'."
"I can discern the velvet gowns," conceded Edson, from his place just
in front, where his substantial figure supported his mother's frail one.
"But I fail to make out any rags. Take us by and large, we seem to put
up rather a prosperous front. I never noticed it quite so decidedly as
this year."
"There's nothing at all ostentatious about the girls' dressing, dear,"
said his mother's voice in his ear. "And I noticed they all put on their
simplest clothes for to-night--as they should."
"Oh, yes," Edson chuckled. "That's precisely why they look so
prosperous. That elegant simplicity--gad!--you should see the bills that
come in for it. Jess isn't an extravagant dresser, as women go--not by
a long shot--_but!_" He whistled a bar or two of ragtime. "I can see
myself now, as a lad, sitting on that fence over there--" he indicated a
line of rails, half buried in snow, which outlined the borders of an old
apple orchard-- "counting the quarters in my trousers pockets, earned by
hard labour in the strawberry patch. I thought it quite a sum, but it
wouldn't have bought----"
"A box of the cigars you smoke now," interjected Ralph unexpectedly,
from behind. "Hullo--there's the church! Jolly, but the old building
looks bright, doesn't it? I didn't know oil lamps could put up such an
illumination. --And see the folks going in!"
"See them coming--from all directions." Nan, farther down the line,
clutched Sam Burnett's arm. "Oh, I knew they'd come out--I knew they
would!"
"Of course they'll come out." This was Mrs. Oliver. "Locks and bars
couldn't keep a country community at home, when there is anything going
on. But as to the _feeling_--that is a different matter. --Oliver, do
take my muff. I want to take off my veil. There will be no chance once I
am inside the door. Nan is walking twice as fast now as when we started.
She will have us all up the aisle before----"
"Where's Billy Sewall bolting to?" Guy sent back this stage-whisper from
the front of the procession, to Margaret, his wife, who was walking with
Father Fernald, her hand on his gallant arm. In John Fernald's day a man
always offered his arm to the lady he escorted.
"He caught sight of Mr. Blake, across the road. They're going in
together," Margaret replied. "I think Mr. Blake is to have a part in
the service."
"Old Ebenezer Blake? You don't say!" Father Fernald ejaculated in
astonishment. He had not been told of Sewall's visit to the aged
minister. "Well--well--that is thoughtful of William Sewall.
I don't suppose Elder Blake has taken part in a service in fifteen
years--twenty, maybe. He used to be a great preacher, too, in his day.
I used to listen to him, when I was a young man, and think he could put
things in about as interesting a way as any preacher I ever heard. Good
man, too, he was--and is. But nobody's thought of asking him to make a
prayer in public since--I don't know when. --Well, well--look at the
people going in! I guess we'd better be getting right along to our
seats, or there won't be any left."