Looking back now over longer stretches of years and experiences
than I then had, I can recall a few other persons who impressed me in a
similar fashion. But they were rare and beautiful exceptions to the
scores, and even hundreds of average human folk whom I have known.
After we had driven some distance, Thomas turned to inquire if we were
going to the grave.
"It is a shady drive good part of the way; trees on one side and the
water's edge bordering the other. Perhaps we might as well go."
"They'd take it very kind of you, ma'am, I am sure," Thomas responded,
although her remarks were addressed to me. Evidently he was very
willing to exercise the horses, notwithstanding his press of work.
We sat in the carriage at the door of Daniel's cottage. The house seemed
full, and quite a crowd were standing outside.
"They have shown the poor thing a good deal of respect," Mrs. Flaxman
whispered to me as she glanced at the numerous assemblage.
Suddenly, on the hush that seemed to enfold everything, there broke
weird, discordant singing--women's voices sounding high and piercing, the
men's deeper and more melodious. The hymn they sang was long, and the air
very plaintive, bringing tears to my eyes, and causing the strange,
oppressed feeling of the preceding day to return. When the singing ceased
I noticed the men removing their hats, and a moment after a stentorian
voice speaking loudly. I glanced around amazed, but Mrs. Flaxman noticing
my surprise, whispered, "It is prayer.
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