Daniel Blake
was one of the ushers. His face brightened at sight of us. Nodding
respectfully to Mr. Winthrop, he led us to one of the best seats in the
house. I glanced around at the large congregation, and was impressed by
the solemn hush pervading the place, and the expectant look on the faces
of the worshippers. Mr. Bowen was sitting near and I wanted Mr. Winthrop
to see and know him; so I took out my pencil and wrote on the leaf of my
hymn book directing his attention to my friend. He looked keenly at the
pale, rapt face, and then with a scarce perceptible smile turned to me.
The church kept filling; and while yet the people were streaming in, the
minister arose, and after a brief, but exceedingly solemn invocation,
gave out the hymn. In an alcove just behind the preacher's stand was a
cabinet organ, and some half dozen singers, male and female; but once the
singing had got well under way, organ and choir were as though they were
not; nearly every one in the house was singing save myself and Mr.
Winthrop. I kept silent the more keenly to enjoy the heavy volume of
sound which impressed me as more reverent praise than any church music
I had ever heard. I turned to Mr. Winthrop. He too was looking over the
dense mass of humanity with a curious intentness, as if here were some
entirely new experience. When the hymn was ended there was a moment's
hush after the congregation had bowed in reverent act of worship and then
the preacher's voice rose in earnest pleading.
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