Gentle as the summer's breeze.
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ith some misgivings, it was carried through in the wavering treble of thewomen and the straggling bass of the few men: then the kindly-faced man,whom the preacher addressed as "Brother Hodges," knelt and offeredprayer. The supplication was very tender and childlike. Even by the light offaith he did not seek to penetrate the veil of divine intention, nor did hethrow his javelin of prayer straight against the Deity's armour of eternalreserve. He left all to God, as a child lays its burden at its father's feet, andmany eyes were moist as the people rose from their knees. The sermon was a noisy and rather inconsequential effort. The preacherhad little to say, but he roared that little out in a harsh, unmusical voiceaccompanied by much slapping of his hands and pounding of the table.Towards the end he lowered his voice and began to play upon the feelingsof his willing hearers, and when he had won his meed of sobs and tears,when he had sufficiently probed old wounds and made them bleed afresh,when he had conjured up dead sorrows from the grave, when he hadobscured the sun of heavenly hope with the vapours of earthly grief, he satdown, satisfied. The people went forward, some curiously, some with sympathy, to looktheir last on the miserable dead. Mrs. Davis led the weeping child forwardand held him up for a last gaze on his mother's face. The poor geraniumswere wiped and laid by the dead hands, and then the undertaker glided in 13
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