the church at kulleby was no dear, old-fashioned swedish church, with its low white stone walls and its high black roof. the bell had no quaintly-formed tower of its own outside and quite separate from the sacred edifice, like an ecclesiastical functionary whose own soul has never entered into the holy of holies. no; the parish of kulleby had its pride in a great new wooden sanctuary, with nothing about its exterior, from foundation to belfry, that might not be seen in any protestant land whatever. crowning the top of a green hill that rose in the midst of a wide stretch of rolling meadows stood the simple building. to it came on sunday the rustics of the parish as regularly as they went to their week-day[pg 58] work. only here and there in the unfenced churchyard rose a low mound to indicate where, as it were, a chance seed had been dropped into "god's acre."
it was sunday morning. at eight o'clock the bell had sounded out over the green slopes, and even late sleepers were called to put on their best garments, whether church-goers or not church-goers, in honour of the holy day or holiday, as it might happen to be kept in their home. then came the second ringing, when prudent, far-away worshippers took psalm-book and pocket-handkerchief in hand and started demurely, at a sunday pace, for the house of god. at a quarter to ten the clergyman had been seen in the dim distance, and the fact was announced by "priest-ringing." at ten came the "assembly-ringing," when talkers in the churchyard must break off in the midst of a half-made bargain, or check the but half-expressed sympathy with the joy or sorrow of some fellow-rustic with whom there had been a confidential chat.
within, the church was all white, with here and there a gilded line like a bright, holy purpose running through a simple everyday life. there was a fresh, pure air about the place, as if even angels might have gathered there in their fair garments. the[pg 59] worshippers, however, on the women's side were all in black—black dresses, and black kerchiefs over the heads, like solemn, mourning penitents rather than followers of the psalmist who could say, "i was glad when they said unto me, let us go into the house of the lord." there were two exceptions to this sombre rule.
the seats facing each other on opposite sides of the chancel were unoccupied, save by a tall young woman and a little girl, who now hurriedly took their places, and in a formal, perfunctory manner put down their heads for a supposed private prayer for a blessing on this opportunity of public worship. they very soon rose up mechanically, and looked about them with the curious eyes of strangers.
the little girl, nipped, and it seemed almost blasted, by gales of prosperity, showed a fair, round face, full and soft, and satisfied with its worldly portion. the mouth, although it looked as if it had tasted the good things of life, was sweet and loving. her companion was tall and strongly built, and somewhat gaily dressed in garments made in every particular according to the latest fashion. two long ostrich feathers lazily lolled on the broad brim of her hat, as much at home as if they had never known any[pg 60] other abode; and her new kid gloves fitted her large hands to perfection—a fact of which it was plain she was conscious.
the clergyman was coming in, with the long black folds which were his authorized substitute for a gown hanging from the nape of his neck to the floor. in one hand he carried in full sight a white handkerchief, held in one corner like a drooping banner of peace.
there was suddenly a counter object of attention for the gay worshippers in the side pew. a little woman in black came hurrying up the aisle and entered the seat before them. she put down on the narrow shelf her prayer-book and a tumbled red handkerchief, and then bowed her head. suddenly, in the midst of her devotions, she hastily withdrew the offending radical handkerchief, and substituted in its place a heavy linen one, so closely pressed, as if by mangling, that it lay by the psalm-book as uncompromisingly stiff as itself.
a smile passed over the features of the little girl, and she looked up into the face of her companion for sympathy. instead of the responsive glance she expected, she saw an expression of pain which she was puzzled to understand.[pg 61]
the service went on. the sermon was long and tiresome, to judge from the impulsive movement of relief on the part of the little girl when all was at last over. she was well satisfied when her companion went down the aisle at an unusually rapid pace. the rustics generally lingered to hear when there was to be an auction, what letters were to be distributed, and other announcements by which a scattered congregation, rarely meeting through the week, might be made aware of matters secular and parochial which it was important for them to know.
the butterfly worshippers had, as it were, flown away when the mass of the congregation streamed out from the door. long, narrow black lines stretched off in every direction as over the well-trodden paths the cottagers plodded away to their homes after this the periodical great event, recreation, and social gathering of their hard-working lives.
alone the little woman in black took her way. her goal was on the long rocky ridge that bounded the eastern horizon like a transplanted bit of the jura. there was no path for her to follow, but she made her way over the meadows with the sure instinct of the swallow winging its flight to its winter home. he who careth for the birds would[pg 62] surely care for her. it was plain she was one of the humble of the earth in every sense of the word. her black head kerchief was old and worn, and her clumsily-fitting, coarse cloth "sacque" stood out below her waist as if it were of sheet iron, while her spare skirts fell below it like a drooping flower-bell from its open calyx above. she was not thinking of her clothes. her heart was warbling a song of thanksgiving.
