IT was a lovely, balmy day--that upon which our priests and Levites
went down to the baptisms of John. It was yet early in March, but the
day was as soft and as warm as a day in May.
When the clergymen descended from the train they found the platform
crowded with those who had come over from the camp to meet arriving
friends, and everywhere arose a confused and inarticulate hubbub of
voices. The committee almost forced its way across the platform to
where the hacks and carriages of all sorts and kinds stood drawn up in
a row, and whence the voices of hackmen dominated loudly all the bustle
and noise, adding their quota to the bewildering confusion. The crowd
struggled and pushed, and through the ceaseless noise and hubbub there
sounded the thin, keen wail of a crying baby.
Mr. Bold chose a 'bus, the committee filled it almost more than full,
and it was driven off immediately, among the first to quit the
station. A cloud of dust surrounded them as they rattled along the
level road, leaving farther and farther behind them the still ceaseless
tumult of the crowded platform, above which loomed the locomotive,
smoking and hissing gigantically.
The owner of the 'bus stood on the steps behind clinging to the
door-frame. "Be you ministers?" said he.
"Yes," said one of the party.
"Come to the baptism?"