For
instance she noted that Mrs. Brenning was on the other side of
grandma, and wondered whether she were atoning for the sins of her
chickens against Mrs. Jones's tomato-vines; she noticed, too, that
Mrs. Brenning's hat had become askew, which gave her a queer,
unsuitable, rakish look. Yet Missy didn't feel like laughing. She
felt like closing her eyes and waiting to be born anew. But, before
closing her eyes, she sent a swift glance up at the choir platform.
Polly Currier was still up there, looking very placid as she sang
with the rest of the choir. They were singing a rollicking tune. She
listened--
"Pull for the shore, sailor! Pull for the shore! Leave the poor old
strangled wretch, and pull for the shore!"
Who was the old strangled wretch? A sinner, doubtless. Ah, the world
was full of sin. She looked again at Polly. Polly's placidity was
reassuring; evidently she was not a sinner. But it was time to close
her eyes. However, before doing so, she sent a swift upward glance
toward the preacher. He had a look on his face as though an electric
light had been turned on just inside.
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