The Ely miner., 1913-08-08
A Disturbing Laugh.
CHAPTER II.

The sermon was ended, the exhor-
tation was at the point of loudest
voice and most impassioned earnest
ness. A number of men, most of them
young, thronged the footpath leading
from the stiles to the tent. A few
were smoking; all were waiting for
the pretty girls to come forth from
the Christian camp. Fran pushed her
way among the idlers with admira BILE
nonchalance, her sharp elbow ready
for the first resistive pair of ribs.
The crowd outside did not argue a
scarcity of seats under the canvas.
Fran found a plank without a back,
loosely disposed, and entirely unoc-
cupied. She seated herself, straight
rs an Indian, and with the air of be-
ing very much at ease
The scene was new to her. More
than a thousand villagers, ranged
along natural declivity, looked down
upon the platform of undressed pine.
In front of the platform men and
women were kneeling on the ground.
Some were bathed In tears; some
were praying aloud; some were talk
ing to those who stood, or knelt be-
side them; some were clasping con-
vulsive hands; all were oblivious of
surroundings.
From the hundred members of the
choir, Fran singled out the man she
had been seeking for so many years.
1t was easy enough to distinguish him
from the singers who crowded the
platform, not only by his baton which
proclaimed the choir-leader, but by
his resemblance to the picture she had
discovered in a New York Sunday
Supplement.
Hamilton Gregory was clean-shaved
except for a silken reddish mustache;
his complexion was fair, his hair a
shade between red and brown, his
eyes blue. His finely marked face
and striking bearing were stamped
with distinction and grace
1t was strange to Fran that he did
not once glance in her direction
True, there was nothing in her ap-
pearance to excite especial attention,
but she had looked forward to meet
ing him ever since she could remem-
ber. Now that her eyes were fast
ened on his face, now that they were
SO near, sheltered by common roof.
how could he help feeling her pres
ence?
The choir-leader rose and lifted his
baton. At his back the hundred men
and women obeyed the signal, while
hymn-books f1uttered open throughout
the congregation. Suddenly the leader
of the choir started into galvanic life.
He led the song with his sweet voice,
his swaying body, his frantic baton,
his wild arms, his imperious feet.
With all that there was of him, he
conducted the pselodious charge upon
the ramparts OF sin and Indifference.
If in repose Fran had thought him
singularly handsome and attractive.
she now found him inspiring. His
blue eyes burned with eXaltation while
his magic voice seemed to thrill with
more than human ecstasy. .
On the left, the heavy bass was
singing,
zone thing we know,
Wherever we go
We reap what we SOW,
We reap what we SOW"
While these words were being doled
out at long and impressive intervals,
like the tolling of heavy bell, more
than half a hundred soprano voices
were hastily getting in their requisite
number of half-notes, thus
$50 scatter little, scatter little; scatter
scatter little,
Scatter little seeds of kindness"
In spite of the vast volume of
sound produced by these voices, as
we'll as by the accompaniment of two
pianos and a snare-drum, the voice of
Hamilton Gregory, soaring flute-like
toward heaven, seemed to dart
through the interstices of rests" to
| thread its slender way along infinites-
imal curves of silence. AS one list
ened, it was the inspired truth as ut
tered by Hamilton Gregory that
brought the message home to con-
science. AS if one had never before
been told that one reaps what one
! sows, uneasy memory started out OF