The floors are very well cemented,
and are dry and clean."
Having finished his story he invited me to go to the parsonage
and get some refreshment. "I daresay you are thirsty," he
said.
But it was getting late; it was almost dark in the church by
now, although the figure of the golden-haired saint still
glowed in the window and gazed at us out of her blue eyes. "I
must not waste more of your time," I added. "There are your
boys still patiently waiting to begin their practice--such
nice quiet fellows!"
"Yes, they are," he returned a little bitterly, a sudden
accent of weariness in his voice and no trace now of what I
had seen in his countenance a little while ago--the light that
shone and brightened behind the dark eye and the little play
about the corners of the mouth as of dimpling motions on the
surface of a pool.
And in that new guise, or disguise, I left him, the austere
priest with nothing to suggest the whimsical or grotesque in
his cold ascetic face. Recrossing the bridge I stood a little
time and looked once more at the noble church tower standing
dark against the clear amber-coloured sky, and said to myself:
"Why, this is one of the oddest incidents of my life! Not
that I have seen or heard anything very wonderful--just a
small rustic village, one of a thousand in the land; a big new
church in which some person was playing rather madly on the
organ, a set of unruly choir-boys; a handsome stained-glass
west window, and, finally, a nice little chat with the vicar.
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