The singing of the metrical psalm sounded strangely in unaccustomed
ears. Of melody there seemed little or none. The notes ascended and
fell, and quavered into odd, unexpected trills and shakes, but it was
sung with an earnestness and an intensity which could not fail to be
impressive. The women, clean and tidy in their Sabbath bravery, sat
with eyes fixed unwaveringly on their books; the children piped lustily
by their sides; at the door of the pews the heads of the different
families peered over their spectacles at the printed words, their
solemn, whiskered faces drawn out to abnormal length.
In a corner by himself sat a weather-beaten old shepherd, singing with
closed eyes, his shaggy head waving to and fro in time with the strain.
Up in this lonesome glen those words had been his stay and comfort
during a life of hardship. Like David of old, he had sung them on the
mountainside, and they had been as a guide unto his feet, a lamp unto
his eyes. He needed no book and no spectacles to enable him to join his
note to the strain. Margot looked at him with a thrill of understanding
and reverence. A saint of God, a lowly dweller on earth, for whom was
waiting one of the "higher" places in the kingdom of heaven.
The sermon was long and rambling, and somewhat difficult for Southern
ears to follow; there was a solemn collection taken in small boxes
secured to long wooden handles, thrust in turns down the various pews
with somewhat comical effect; then the service was over, and Margot and
Ron came out into the village street, to find themselves face to face
with a stream of worshippers who were returning from the farther kirk.
Foremost among the number was Mrs McNab, large and imposing to behold
in her Sabbath best, with her small husband ambling meekly by her side.
Margot smiled at her in friendly fashion, and was dismayed to receive in
return a glare of incredulous anger. What had she done to offend? She
could not imagine what was wrong, and continued to stare blankly after
the unbending figure, until presently her eye encountered another well-
known face bent upon her with a smile. The Chieftain and his brother
were close behind; so close that even the Editor's shyness could not
attempt an escape. In another moment they were walking together, Margot
between the two men, Ron on the outside, a few paces apart from the
rest.
Margot glanced from one to the other with puzzled eyes. The Chieftain
beamed upon her frankly. The Editor looked, and looked away, knitting
his brows in embarrassment.
"What have I done?" she cried eagerly. "Why is Mrs McNab so cross?
All was peace and joy when we left the inn. I had done my very best to
help her, and now--you saw how she scowled! How can I possibly have
offended her in this short time?"