She stood there, very unobtrusive, drinking in the sadly
sweet sounds. Up on the stained-glass window the sunlight filtered
through blue-and-red-and-golden angels, sending shafts of heavenly
colour across the floor; and the fibres of her soul, enmeshed in
music, seemed to stretch out to mingle with that heavenly colour. It
was hard to separate herself from that sound and colour which was
not herself. Tears came to her eyes; she couldn't tell why, for she
wasn't sad. Oh, if she could stand there listening forever!--could
feel like this forever!
The choir was practising for a funeral that afternoon, but Melissa
didn't know that. She had never attended a funeral. She didn't even
know it was a funeral song. She only knew that when, at last, they
stopped singing and filed out of the choir-room, she could hardly
bear to have them go. She wished she might follow them, might tuck
herself away in the auditorium somewhere and stay for the church
service. But her mother didn't allow her to do that. Mother insisted
that church service and Sunday-school, combined, were too much for a
little girl, and would give her headaches.
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