“Now,” said Father Marshall, when they had risen, “I guess we better get a bite to eat.  Seems like a long time since dinner.  Any of that cold chicken left, Mother?  And a few doughnuts and milk?  And say, Mother, we better get the chores done up and get to bed early.  I don’t think you slept much last night, and we’ve got to get up early.  There’s a whole lot to do before she comes.  We need to chirk up the rest of the house a bit.  Somehow we’ve let things get down since Stephen went away.”

Said Mother, as she landed the platter of cold chicken on the table, “How soon do you s’pose she’ll write?  I’m just aching to get that letter!”

CHAPTER XX

Gila had counted on an easy victory that evening.  She had furnished for the occasion her keenest wit, her sweetest laughter, her finest derision, her most sparkling sarcasm; and as she and her escort joined the motley throng who were patiently making their way into the packed doorway she whetted them forth eagerly.

Even while they took their turn among the crowd she began to make keen little remarks about the company they were keeping, drawing her velvet robes away from contact with the throng.

Courtland, standing head and shoulders above her, his fine profile outlined against the brightness of the lighted doorway, was looking about with keen interest on the faces of the people, and wondering why they had come.  Were they in search of the Presence?  Had they, too, felt it there within those dingy walls?  He glanced down at Gila with a hope that she, too, might see and understand to-night.  What friends they might be—­how they might talk these things over together—­if only Gila would understand!

He wished she had had better sense than to array herself in such startling garments.  He could see the curious glances turned her way; glances that showed she was misunderstood.  He did not like it, and he reached down a protecting hand and took her arm, speaking to her gravely, just to show the bold fellows behind her that she was under capable escort.  He did not hear her keen sallies at the expense of their fellow-worshipers.  He was annoyed and trying by his serious mien to shelter her.

The singing was already going on as they entered.  Just plain old gospel songs, sung just as badly, though with even more fervor, than in the morning.  Courtland accepted the tattered hymn-book and put Gila into the seat the shabby usher indicated.  He was wholly in the spirit of the gathering, and anxious only to feel the spell once more that had been about him in the morning.  But Gila was so amused with her surroundings that she could scarcely pay attention to where she was to sit, and almost tripped over the end of the pew.  She openly stared and laughed at the people around her, as though that was what Courtland had brought her there for, and kept nudging him and calling his attention to some grotesque figure.