The bells chimed for
morning service, as the people came up to church from the old-fashioned
streets. They greeted one another as they met in the churchyard,
whispering that it had been a very bad week for poor Mr. Chantrey. Every
one knew how uncontrollable his wife had been for some time past, except
a few strangers, who still drove in from a distance. The congregation,
some curiously, some wistfully, gazed earnestly at him, as with a worn
and weary face, and with bowed-down head already streaked with gray, he
took his place in the reading-desk. Ann Holland wiped away her tears
stealthily, lest he should see she was weeping, and guess the reason. In
the rectory pew the young, fair-haired boy sat alone, as he had often
done of late; for his mother was to unfit to appear in church.
Mr. Chantrey read the service in a clear, steady voice, but with a tone
of trouble in it which only a very dull ear could have missed. When he
ascended his pulpit, and looked down with sad and sunken eyes upon his
people, every face was lifted up to him attentively, as he gave out the
text, "Am I my brother's keeper?" Mrs.
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