They stood and watched it. It scattered slowly, loth to separate and
go. There was no hurry certainly. People talked in lowered voices, as
if conversation after service was against the rules, and the church
and graves might overhear; they smiled, but not too gaily; they seemed
subdued; yet really they wanted to sing and dance--once safely out of
hearing and sight, they would run and jump and stand on their heads.
The children, that is, attributed their own feelings to them.
Several--all "Members" of the Congregation--approached and asked
unreal questions, to which Judy, as the eldest, gave unreal answers:
"Your parents will soon be back again?"
"Yes; Father comes to-morrow, Mother too."
"I hope they have enjoyed their little change."
"I think so--thank you."
Gradually the Congregation melted away, broughams and victorias drove
off sedately down the road, the horses making as little sound as
possible with their hoofs. The Choir-boys emerged from a side-door and
vanished into a field; a series of Old Ladies and Invalids felt their
way down the gravel path with sticks; the "Neighbours," looking clean
and dressed-up, went off in various directions--gravely, voices
hushed, manners circumspect.
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