Mrs. Field listened intently, but all the time it was as if she were
shut up in a corner with her own God and her own religion. There are
as many side chapels as there are individual sorrows in every church.

After the minister finished his discourse, the old men muttered
prayers, with long pauses between. Now and then a young woman played
a gospel tune on a melodeon, and a woman in the same seat with Mrs.
Field led the singing. She was past middle age, but her voice was
still sweet, although once in a while it quavered. She had sung in
the church choir ever since she was a child, and was the prima donna
of the village. The young girl with roses in her hat who sat in front
of Mrs. Field also sang with fervor, although her voice was little
more than a sweetly husky breath. She kept her eyes, at once bold and
timid, fixed upon the young minister as she sang.

When meeting was done, and Mrs. Field arose, the girl spoke to her.
She had a pretty blush on her round cheeks, and she smiled at Mrs.
Field in the same way that she would soon smile at the young
minister.

"How's Lois to-night, Mrs. Field?" said she.

"She's pretty well, thank you, Ida."

"I heard she was sick."

"Oh, no, she ain't sick. The spring weather has made her feel kind of
tired out, that's all. It 'most always does."