Dale closed the hymn-book, held it behind his back, and stared at the cross-beams of the roof until the hymn was over.

After the hymn Mr. Osborn read a couple of chapters from the Bible, and Dale, seated again, understood how utterly unfounded had been his recent notion that these people were devoting any particular attention to him.  He looked at them carefully.  Obviously they had not a thought of him.  The eyes of those near to him and far from him were alike fixed upon the pastor’s face.

But as soon as they sang again he experienced the same sensations again, felt a conviction that the hymn was aimed directly at him.

      “Lord, when Thy Spirit deigns to show
          The badness of our hearts,
      Astonished at the amazing view,
          The Soul with horror starts.

      “Our staggering faith gives way to doubt,
          Our courage yields to fear;
      Shocked at the sight, we straight cry out,
          ‘Can ever God dwell here?’

      “None less than God’s Almighty Son
          Can move such loads of sin;
      The water from his side must run,
          To wash this dungeon clean.”

“Now, I think,” said Mr. Osborn, “it is fairly lighting-up time, and that no one can accuse us of being extravagant if we call for the match-boxes.  Brother Maghull, please get to work.  And, yes, you too, Brother Hartley, if you will.  You’re always a dab at regulating them.”

Then the lamps were lighted; two or three men going round to do the work, the congregation generally assisting as much as they were able, while the pastor, watching all operations, made genial comments.

“Thank you.  Now we begin to see who’s who, and what’s what.  I say, that’s on the smoke, isn’t it?  I seem to smell something, or is it imagination?  If the wicks are as badly trimmed as they were three Sundays ago, I shall be tempted to copy the procedure of the House of Commons, and name a member.”  Then he smiled.  “Yes, I shall name a certain young sister who must have turned clumsy-fingered because she was thinking of her fal-lals and her chignon, or her new hat, when she ought to have been thinking of her duty to our lamps.”

A ripple of gentle laughter, like a lightly dancing wave on a deep calm sea, passed from the platform to the outer door; the lamplighters went back to their seats; and the pastor with a change of voice said solemnly:  “Friends, let us pray.”

Dale observed his manner of holding his hand to his forehead as if seeking inspiration, the almost spasmodic movements of his mouth, the sort of plaintive groan that started the prayer, and the steadily accumulating earnestness with which it went on.

“O merciful and divine Father, supreme and omnipotent lord of Thy created universe, vouchsafe unto this little knot of Thy lowly creatures ...”

It was a long prayer; and Dale, surmising it to be an extempore composition, admired Mr. Osborn’s flow of language, command of erudite words, and success in bringing some very intricate sentences to an appropriate period.