—and greeted with acclamations—came old Erik hobbling down the steep path with his crutch, his bad foot in all its wrappings, looking like a baby in swaddling clothes.
Emanuel left his companions and seated himself higher up the slopes, feeling the need of a moment's quiet.
As he sat there, and saw couple after couple slowly wandering down towards the shore—always woman with woman, and man with man, and saw how they all stopped at the foot of the path to look for seats, as if dazzled by the light from sky and sea—he was reminded of the name of "Church," which the people had given to this spot. He had a feeling himself, at this moment, of having been witness to a church-going more solemn than any he had ever before taken part in. At last the whole congregation sat in long rows around him on the terraced slopes—the women lowest down with their skirts gathered round them, and pocket-handkerchiefs in their hands; some wore large black "church hoods," others their gorgeous gold-embroidered caps, which shone round their heads like halos in the fading light. The men sat in rows above them resting their elbows on their knees. Quite at the top, a group of children lay with their hands under their cheeks, peeping down—like the angels' heads in old altar pieces.
The church-like impression was strengthened when a hush came over the people. The girls in
