associations. It had two tiers of arched windows, the upper row letting
light into a long, lofty gallery, that generally had for its occupants
perhaps a dozen very shy auditors. If a "coaster" were in port over
Sunday, then the heavy, shuffling tread of several men of the sea might be
heard on the gallery stairs. This might happen when the service was a
third through, and by the time it was two thirds through the shuffling
tread might be heard on the stairs again, and this time echoing toward the
door. The gallery was plain and old-fashioned in its finish, but it was
supported by twisted wooden pillars considered to be marvels of
architectural ingenuity in their day. The pews were old-fashioned in their
form and decoration; but then they were surrounded by so many dear
associations of the past, that when Aunt Stanshy entered one of those box
pews she seemed to have stepped aboard a ship and it drifted her at once
far, far away among old friends. On a rainy day, especially, did Aunt
Stanshy enjoy the old church. True, not many would come out, and their
heads above the backs of the pews looked like scattered turtle heads
lifted above the surface of a pond in the woods. Aunt Stanshy was sure to
be there, and, while she heard the rain beating upon the windows, there
was the minister's voice reverently echoing in prayer, and Aunt Stanshy
had such a sense of protection from this world's many storms. On
fair-weather Sundays there would be quite a rush for the old church. The
Browns, Pauls, Randalls, Jamesons, Tapieys, would turn up, smiling,
radiant and self-assured as if they had never been absent from church a
single service. Their manner almost seemed to declare that they had been
there day and night. O, young people, do dare to be rainy-weather
Christians!

Aunt Stanshy and Charlie were walking away from the church the noon of the
Sunday after the grand march. At St. John's, the Sunday-school followed
the morning service.