I discovered that it possessed an organ of extraordinary power
and that someone was performing on it with a vengeance.
Inside the noise was tremendous--a bigger noise from an organ,
it seemed to me, than I had ever heard before, even at the
Albert Hall and the Crystal Palace, but even more astonishing
than the uproar was the sight that met my eyes. The boys,
nine or ten sturdy little rustics with round sunburnt West
Country faces, were playing the roughest game ever witnessed
in a church. Some were engaged in a sort of flying fight,
madly pursuing one another up and down the aisles and over the
pews, and whenever one overtook another he would seize hold of
him and they would struggle together until one was thrown and
received a vigorous pommelling. Those who were not fighting
were dancing to the music. It was great fun to them, and they
were shouting and laughing their loudest only not a sound of
it all could be heard on account of the thunderous roar of the
organ which filled and seemed to make the whole building
tremble. The boys took no notice of me, and seeing that there
was a singularly fine west window, I went to it and stood
there some time with my back to the game which was going on at
the other end of the building, admiring the beautiful colours
and trying to make out the subjects depicted. In the centre
part, lit by the after-glow in the sky to a wonderful
brilliance, was the figure of a saint, a lovely young woman in
a blue robe with an abundance of loose golden-red hair and an
aureole about her head. Her pale face wore a sweet and placid
expression, and her eyes of a pure forget-me-not blue were
looking straight into mine. As I stood there the music, or
noise, ceased and a very profound silence followed--not a
giggle, not a whisper from the outrageous young barbarians,