Page and Aunt Wess', who presented themselves at the church in advance of the others, found the interior cool, dark, and damp. They sat down in a front pew, talking in whispers, looking about them. Druggeting shrouded the reader's stand, the baptismal font, and bishop's chair. Every footfall and every minute sound echoed noisily from the dark vaulting of the nave and chancel. The janitor or sexton, a severe old fellow, who wore a skull cap and loose slippers, was making a great to-do with a pile of pew cushions in a remote corner. The rain drummed with incessant monotony upon the slates overhead, and upon the stained windows on either hand. Page, who attended the church regularly every Sunday morning, now found it all strangely unfamiliar. The saints in the windows looked odd and unecclesiastical; the whole suggestion of the place was uncanonical. In the organ loft a tuner was at work upon the organ, and from time to time the distant mumbling of the thunder was mingled with a sonorous, prolonged note from the pipes. "My word, how it is raining," whispered Aunt Wess', as the pour upon the roof suddenly swelled in volume. But Page had taken a prayer book from the rack, and kneeling upon a hassock was repeating the Litany to herself. It annoyed Aunt Wess'. Excited, aroused, the little old lady was never more in need of a listener. Would Page never be through? "And Laura's new frock," she whispered, vaguely. "It's going to be ruined." Page, her lips forming the words, "Good Lord deliver us," fixed her aunt with a reproving glance. To pass the time Aunt Wess' began counting the pews, missing a number here and there, confusing herself, always obliged to begin over again. From the direction of the vestry room came the sound of a closing door. Then all fell silent again. Even the shuffling of the janitor ceased for an instant. "Isn't it still?" murmured Aunt Wess', her head in the air. "I wonder if that was them. I heard a door slam. They tell me that the rector has been married three times." Page, unheeding and demure, turned a leaf, and began with "All those who travel by land or water." Mr. Cressler and young Miss Gretry appeared. They took their seats behind Page and Aunt Wess', and the party exchanged greetings in low voices. Page reluctantly laid down her prayer book. "Laura will be over soon," whispered Mr. Cressler. "Carrie is with her. I'm going into the vestry room. J. has just come." He took himself off, walking upon his tiptoes. Aunt Wess' turned to Page, repeating: "Do you know they say this rector has been married three times?" But Page was once more deep in her prayer book, so the little old lady addressed her remark to the Gretry girl. This other, however, her lips tightly compressed, made a despairing gesture with her hand, and at length managed to say: "Can't talk." "Why, heavens, child, whatever is the matter?" "Makes them worse--when I open my mouth--I've got the hiccoughs."