The floating voices of people you couldn't see, the flickering light
of the lanterns, the shadows just beyond their swaying range, all
made it seem gay and alluring, so that you almost forgot that it was
only a church festival.
A big moon rose up from behind the church-tower, a beautiful and
medieval-looking combination. Missy thought of those olden-time
feasts "unto kings and dukes," when there was revel and play, and
"all manner of noblesse." And, though none but her suspected it, the
little white-covered tables became long, rough-hewn boards, and the
Congregational ladies' loaned china became antique-looking pewter,
and the tumblers of water were golden flaskets of noble wine. Missy,
who was helping Aunt Isabel serve at one of the tables, attended her
worshipful patrons with all manner of noblesse. She was glad she was
wearing her best pink mull with the brocaded sash.
Aunt Isabel's table was well patronized. It seemed to Missy that
most of the men present tried to get "served" here. Perhaps it was
because they admired Aunt Isabel. Missy couldn't have blamed them
for that, because none of the other Congregational ladies was half
as pretty.
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