hey were not people of Margaret's world, and when
Saturday evening was over she sat alone in the room they had given her
and, facing herself in the glass, confessed to herself that she looked
back with more pleasure to the Sabbath spent with Mom Wallis than she
could look forward to a Sabbath here. The morning proved her forebodings
well founded.

Breakfast was a late, informal affair, filled with hilarious gaiety.
There was no mention of any church service, and Margaret found it was
quite too late to suggest such a thing when breakfast was over, even if
she had been sure there was any service.

After breakfast was over there were various forms of amusement proposed
for her pleasure, and she really felt very much embarrassed for a few
moments to know how to avoid what to her was pure Sabbath-breaking. Yet
she did not wish to be rude to these people who were really trying to be
kind to her. She managed at last to get them interested in music, and,
grouping them around the piano after a few preliminary performances by
herself at their earnest solicitation, coaxed them into singing hymns.

After all, they really seemed to enjoy it, though they had to get along
with one hymn-book for the whole company; but Margaret knew how to make
hymn-singing interesting, and her exquisite voice was never more at its
best than when she led off with "My Jesus, as Thou Wilt," or "Jesus,
Saviour, Pilot Me."

"You would be the delight of Mr. Brownleigh's heart," said the hostess,
gushingly, at last, after Margaret had finished singing "Abide With Me"
with wonderful feeling.

"And who is Mr. Brownleigh?" asked Margaret. "Why should I delight his
heart?"

"Why, he is our missionary--that is, the missionary for this region--and
you would delight his heart because you are so religious and sing so
well," said the superficial little woman. "Mr. Brownleigh is really a
very cultured man. Of course, he's narrow. All clergymen are narrow,
don't you think? They have to be to a certain extent. He's really
_quite_ narrow. Why, he believes in the Bible _literally_, the whale and
Jonah, and the Flood, and making bread out of stones, and all that sort
of thing, you know. Imagine it! But he does. He's sincere! Perfectly
sincere. I suppose he has to be. It's his business. But sometimes one
feels it a pity that he can't relax a little, just among us here, you
know. We'd never tell. Why, he won't even play a little game of poker!
And he doesn't smoke! _Im