"Now," said Mr. Osborn, "let us praise God by singing the hundred and
twenty-sixth hymn."
Then all the faces showed. It was like a flash of pallid light running
to and fro along the benches as everybody changed the kneeling to the
sitting posture; and Dale immediately felt that he had been placed in
an uncomfortably conspicuous position. Far from being situated so that
he could pry on the private affairs of others, he was where everybody
could study him. He was alone, opposite to the entire crowd, instead
of being comfortably absorbed in its mass.
"Oh, thank you. Much obliged."
Mr. Osborn, speaking from the pulpit, had said something to one of his
young women, and she was leaning over the balustrade, smilingly
offering Dale an open hymn-book.
"I am afraid," she said, "that it's very small print; but I dare say
you have good eyes."
She spoke in the most friendly natural manner, exactly as one speaks
to a visitor when one is anxious to make him feel welcome and at home.
Dale, startled by this style of address in such a place, made a
dignified bow.
"Give him this," said Mr. Osborn, handing a book out of the pulpit.
"It's a larger character--'long primer,' as I believe the printers
call it.
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