"Why— I was thinking how happy we'll all be when we are purified and at rest in Beulah Land."
"My, I knew it was something religious—you sang so sorta happy and inspired. Well! We must be going. It's been such a lovely evening, Sister Bains. We just don't know how to thank you and Brother Bains, yes, and Brother Gantry, too, for such a fine time. Oh, and Brother Shallard, of course. Come, Charley."
Charley, as well as the other deacons, had vanished into the kitchen after Brother Bains. There was a hollow noise, as of a jug mouth, while the ladies and the clergy talked loudly and looked tolerant. The men appeared at the door wiping their mouths with the hairy backs of their paws.
After the tremendous leave-taking, to a yawning host Elmer suggested, "If it won't bother you and Sister Bains, I'm going to stay down here by the fire a few minutes and complete my notes for my sermon tomorrow. And then I won't keep Brother Shallard awake."
"Fine, fine—eaaaaah—'scuse me—so sleepy. The house is yours, my boy—Brother. G'night."
"Good night! Good night, Brother Bains. Good night, Sister Bains. Good night, Sister Lulu. . . . Night, Frank."
The room was far more boisterous when he was left alone in it. It reeled and clamored. He paced, nervously smiting the palm of his left hand, stopping in fever to listen. . . . Time crawling forever. . . . She would not come.
Creep-mouse rustle on the stairs, reluctant tip-toe in the hall.
His whole torso swelled with longing. He threw back his arms, fists down by his side, chin up, like the statue of Nathan Hale. But when she edged in he was enacting the kindly burly pastor, an elbow on the corner of the parlor-organ, two fingers playing with his massy watch-chain, his expression benevolent and amused.
She was not in a dressing-gown; she wore her blue frock unaltered. But she had let down her hair and its pale silkiness shone round her throat. She looked at him beseechingly.
Instantly he changed his pose and dashed at her with a little boyish cry:
