The room presented a strange appearance for a place of worship.  It was destitute of any ornament whatever.  The altar, which was at one end, consisted of a simple wooden table, on which stood a large crucifix.  The brothers and sisters sat at long tables covered with white linen; but, as usual, the sexes were seated apart.  Each member was served with a small cup of tea and a little bun.

After a while the music ceased, and a long prayer by the principal elder followed after which another member read a letter from one of their missionaries, Joseph Hubner, who was at work in the land of the Kaffres.  This letter presented a touching picture of humble self-sacrifice and sincere devotion.

Alexander felt deeply moved, and forgot the strange mixture of religious exercises and temporal enjoyment which this feast displayed.  Absorbed in listening, he did not observe that, in his immediate vicinity, a singular commotion had arisen, and that a good deal of whispering was carried on among the Brothers, as they regarded him and Hans with curious glances.  After the reading of the letter another hymn was given out; then Hans nudged his brother.

“What is there so peculiar about us?  Everybody is gazing at us so!”

Alexander glanced about, to see if anything was wrong, but could discover nothing amiss.  They had quietly and politely partaken of the feast when it was offered to them, yet something must be wrong to create such a sensation; so he turned to some one sitting near by, with the question: 

“Are we depriving any one of this seat?”

“Oh no, indeed, my dear sir,” he replied.

“So much the better,” said Alexander.  “We do not wish to cause any inconvenience and I began to fear we were doing so.”

“I must ask your pardon,” stammered the Brother, with much confusion.  “It was certainly very rude for us to stare at you so, and yet it was the result of the deep sympathy we feel for your brother, who seems so young to be a widower.”

Alexander gave a searching glance at the speaker, to see if he was ridiculing his brother.  Hans a widower!  In spite of his tall stature, he showed very plainly that he was but an overgrown schoolboy.

“A widower, sir!” said the young man, slowly.  “My brother is only sixteen years old, and is still at school.  In the world we do not marry at that age.”

“It did indeed seem very strange to me,” said the good man, in extreme embarrassment; “but being seated among the widowers, we judged it must be so.”

The two brothers almost laughed out loud, the position was so ridiculous.

“Then we are both in the wrong place—­my brother as well as I!  You must pardon our ignorance of your customs.  I saw the men and women sitting apart, but never imagined the widowers had a particular place for themselves.  Tell us, pray, where we can sit to be among unmarried fellows like ourselves.”