The Jenkins family was immediately summoned in council to discuss
Amarilly's invitation to attend divine service at St. Mark's.
"You air jest more'n hevin' advantages," said Mrs. Jenkins exultingly.
"Fust the matinée, then the Guild, and now St. Mark's is open to you.
But you'd orter hev a few fixin's to go to sech a grand place,
Amarilly."
Amarilly shook her determined little head resolutely.
"We can't afford it," she said decisively. "I'd stay to hum afore I'd
spend anything on extrys now when we're aketchin' up and layin' by."
"'Twould be good bookkeepin' fer you ter go," spoke up Flamingus. "You
see the preacher's givin' us his business, and we'd orter return the
favor and patrynize his church. You've gotter hustle to hold trade arter
you git it these days. It's up to you ter go, Amarilly." Mrs. Jenkins
looked proudly at her eldest male offspring.
"I declare, Flamingus, you've got a real business head on you jest like
your pa hed. He's right, Amarilly. 'Twouldn't be treating Mr. Meredith
fair not ter go, and it's due him that you go right, so he won't be
ashamed of you. I'll rig you up some way."
The costuming of Amarilly in a manner befitting the great occasion was
an all-absorbing affair for the next few days. Finally, by the
combination of Mrs. Jenkins's industry and Amarilly's ingenuity, aided
by the Boarder and the boys, an elaborate toilet was devised and
executed. Milton donated a "shine" to a pair of tan shoes, the gift of
the girl "what took a minor part." Mrs. Jenkins looked a little askance
at the "best skirt" of blue which had shrunk from repeated washings to a
near-knee length, but Amarilly assured her that it was not as short as
the skirts worn by the ballet girls. She cut up two old blouses and
fashioned a new, bi-colored waist bedizened with gilt buttons. The
Boarder presented a resplendent buckle, and Flamingus provided a gawdy
hair-ribbon.
The hat was the chief difficulty. On week days she wore none, but of
course St. Mark's demanded a headgear of some kind, and at last Mrs.
Jenkins triumphantly produced one of Tam o' Shanter shape manufactured
from a lamp mat and adorned with some roses bestowed by the leading
lady. The belligerent locks of the little scrub-girl refused to respond
to advances from curling iron or papers, but one of the neighbors whose
hair was a second cousin in hue to Amarilly's amber tresses, loaned some
frizzes, which were sewed to the brim of the new hat. The problem of
hand covering was solved by Mr. Vedder, as a pair of orange-tinted
gloves had been turned in at the box-office by an usher, and had
remained unclaimed. They proved a perfect fit, and were the supreme
triumph of the bizarre costume.
Not even Solomon in all his glory was arrayed in splendor greater than
that displayed by Amarilly when she set forth on Sunday morning for St.
Mark's. Promptness was ever Amarilly's chief characteristic, and she
arrived long in advance of the ushers. This gave her an opportunity to
sample several pews before finally selecting one whose usual occupants,
fortunately, were out of the city.
The vastness and stillness of the edifice, disturbed now and then by
silken rustle and soft-shod foot were bewildering to Amarilly. She
experienced a slight depression until the vibrating tones of the organ
fell softly upon the air. The harmony grew more subdued, ceased, and was
succeeded by another moment of solemn silence. Then a procession of
white-robed choristers came down the aisle, their well-trained voices
ringing out in carolling cadence.
"Them's the chorus," thought Amarilly.
Entranced, she listened to the service, sitting upright and very still.
The spiritual significance of the music, the massing of foliage and
flowers in the chancel, the white altars with their many lighted
candles, were very impressive to the little wide-eyed worshipper.
"Their settin's is all right," she said to herself critically, "and it
ain't like the theayter. It's--"
A sudden revealing light penetrated the shadows of her little being.
"This is the real thing!" she acknowledged.
There was only one disappointment to mar the perfection. She felt quite
aggrieved that Mr. Meredith--or Mr. St. John as she still called him in
her thoughts--did not "come on" in the first act.
"Mebby he don't hev the leadin' part to-day," she thought
disappointedly, as a callow youth, whose hair was pompadoured and whose
chin receded, began to read the lessons for the day. Amarilly was kept
in action by her effort to follow the lead of the man in front of her.
"It's hard to know jest when to set or stand or pray, but it keeps
things from draggin'," she thought, "and thar's no chanct to git sleepy.
It keeps me jest on the hump without no rayhearsal fer all this scene
shiftin'."
Her little heart quickened in glad relief when the erect form of John
Meredith ascended the pulpit to deliver the sermon.
"That other one was jest the understudy," she concluded.
The sermon, strong, simple, and sweet like John himself, was delivered
in a rich, modulated voice whose little underlying note of appeal found
entrance to many a hard-shell heart. The theology was not too deep for
the attentive little scrubber to comprehend, and she was filled with a
longing to be good--very good. She made ardent resolutions not to "jaw"
the boys so much, and to be more gentle with Iry and Go. Her conscience
kept on prodding until she censured herself for not mopping the corners
at the theatre more thoroughly.
At the conclusion of the sermon the rector with a slight tremor in his
mellifluous voice pronounced the benediction. Amarilly's eyes shone with
a light that Lord Algernon's most eloquent passages could never have
inspired.
The organ again gave forth its rich tones, and a young, fair-haired boy
with the face of a devotee arose and turned toward the congregation, his
face uplifted to the oaken rafters. A flood of sunshine streamed through
the painted window and fell in long slanting rays upon the spiritual
face. The exquisite voice rose and fell in silvery cadence, the soft
notes fluting out through the vast space and reaching straight to
Amarilly's heart which was beating in unison to the music. "Oh," she
thought wistfully, "if Pete Noyes was only like him!"
She responded to the offertory with a penny, which lay solitary and
outlawed on the edge of a contribution plate filled with envelopes and
bank bills. The isolated coin caught the eye of the young rector as he
received the offerings, and his gaze wandered wonderingly over his
fashionable congregation. It finally rested upon the small, eager-eyed
face of his washerwoman's daughter, and a look of angelic sweetness came
into his brown eyes with the thought: "Even the least of these!"
Colette, statuesque and sublime, caught the flash of radiance that
illumined the face of her pastor, and her heart-strings responded with a
little thrill.
There was another fervent prayer in low, pleading tones, after which
followed the recessional, the choir-boys chanting their solemn measures.
Amarilly in passing out saw John, clad in a long, tight-fitting black
garment, standing at the church door.
"He's got another costume fer the afterpiece," she thought admiringly.
"He must be a lightning change artist like the one down to the vawdyveel
that Pete was tellin' of!"
Then two wonderful, heart-throbbing things happened. John took
Amarilly's saffron-clad hand in his and told her in earnest, convincing
tones how glad he was that she had come, and that he should look for her
every Sunday.
"He held up the hull p'rade fer me!" she thought exultingly.
As he was speaking to her his gaze wandered away for a second; in that
infinitesimal space of time there came into his eyes a dazzling flash of
light that was like a revelation to the sharp-eyed little girl, who,
following the direction of his glance, beheld Colette. Then came the
second triumph. Colette, smiling, shook hands with her and praised her
attire.
"Did you like the service, Amarilly?" she whispered. "Was it like the
theatre?"
"It was diffrent," said Amarilly impressively. "I think it's what heaven
is!"
"And did you like the sermon St. John preached?"
Amarilly's lips quivered.
"I liked it so much, I liked him so much, I'd ruther not talk about it."
Colette stooped and kissed the freckled little face, to the utter
astonishment of those standing near and to the complete felicity of John
Meredith, who was a witness of the little scene though he did not hear
the conversation.
Amarilly walked homeward, her uplifted face radiant with happiness.
"The flowers, the lights, oh, it was great!" she thought. "Bud could
sing like that if he was learnt. He couldn't look like that surplused
boy, though. He sorter made me think of Little Eva in the play they give
down to Milt's school. I wish Bud's hair was yaller and curly instead of
black and straight!"
Amarilly's reminiscences next carried her to the look she had seen in
the rector's eyes when he beheld Colette coming out of the church.
"It was the look Lord Algernon tried to give Lady Cecul," she thought,
"only he couldn't do it, 'cause it wasn't in Him to give. And it
couldn't never be in him the same as 't is in Mr. St. John and Miss
King. It ain't in her yet to see what was in his eyes. Some day when she
gits more feelin's, mebby 't will be, though."
When Amarilly had faithfully pictured the service to the household,
Bud's anaemic face grew eager.
"Take me with yer, Amarilly, next time, won't yer?" he pleaded.
"It's too fer. You couldn't walk, Buddy," she answered, "and we can't
afford car-fare fer two both ways."
"I'll take him to-night," promised the Boarder. "We'll ride both ways,
so fur as we kin. I'd like to hear a sermon now and then, especially by
a young preacher."
The little family stayed up that night until the return of Bud and the
Boarder who were vociferous in approval of the service.
"It ain't much like our meetin'-house," said Bud. "It was het and lit.
And the way that orgin let out! Say, Amarilly, thar wasn't no man in
sight to play it! I s'pose they've got one of them things like a
pianner-player. Them surplused boys sung fine!"
"He give us a fine talk," reported the Boarder. "I've allers thought if
a man paid a hundred cents on the dollar, 't was all that was expected
of him. But I believe it's a good idee to go to church and keep your
conscience jogged up so it won't rust. I'll go every Sunday, mebby, and
take Bud so he kin larn them tunes."
"I never go to no shows nor nuthin'!" wailed Cory.
"I'll take you next time," soothed Amarilly. "I kin work you'se off on
the kinductor as under age, I guess, if you'll crouch down."