Big Game - A Story for Girls

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?"