Genevieve noticed his lapse. She also noticed the reason. She
herself was not a whit impressed by Missy's devotions, but she was
unduly quiet for several minutes. Then she stealthily tore a bit of
leaf from her hymnal--the very page on which she and other frail
mortals were adjured to throw out life-lines--and began to fashion
it into a paper-wad.
The service had now reached the stage of prayer for repentant
sinners. Reverend MacGill was doing the praying, but members of the
congregation were interjecting, "Glory Hallelujah!" "Praise be His
Name!" and the other worshipful ejaculations which make a sort of
running accompaniment on such occasions. Missy thought the
interruptions, though proper and lending an atmosphere of fervour,
rather a pity because they spoiled the effective rise and fall of
the minister's voice. There was one recurrent nasal falsetto which
especially threw you off the religious track. It belonged to old
Mrs. Lemon. Everybody knew she nagged at and overworked and half-
starved that ragged little Sims orphan she'd adopted, but here she
was making the biggest noise of all!
However, much as she wished old Mrs.
Pages:
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243