Chapter VII: Going to Church

ARCHIE STUART did not always trouble himself to go to Church on Sunday mornings. His mother commonly stayed in, cooking a hot dinner for him; and she liked Archie to go with her in the evening.

Mrs. Stuart was one who considered a certain amount of religion to be respectable, and, as she would have said, "due to herself." What might be due to God did not much enter into her thoughts. She liked to be seen in Church once every Sunday, wearing her neat Sunday dress and best bonnet; and she liked her boy Archie to be there also, wearing his best suit. She had been brought up to go to Church, and she counted it proper and decorous to continue the habits in which she had been brought up.

If Archie had wished to go in the morning also, Mrs. Stuart would have made no particular objection; but she took no pains to encourage him in so doing. So, not unnaturally, after leaving Sunday school, and when beginning to look upon himself as a man, Archie fell into the ways of too many around.

Though far from lazy in other respects, he did not at all object to an extra two or three hours in bed every Sunday; and after coming down to a late breakfast, he felt often much more disposed for a country ramble than for Church.

On this particular Sunday morning, Archie had not at all made up his mind what to do. It was not yet quite a regular habit with him to stay away every Sunday morning, though fast becoming so; and perhaps Archie's own narrow escape from the mad dog during the past week had disposed him to unusually serious thought.

"Going for a walk, I suppose?" his mother said, seeing him ready to start.

"Well—yes—I suppose so," Archie answered hesitatingly.

He had been on the point of getting his Prayer-book; but somehow Mrs. Stuart's words and manner checked him. If he said he meant to go to Church, his mother would be sure to ask why, and Archie could not have told her why, for he did not know it himself.

So he started with a resolve to have his walk as usual; yet, instead of going towards the country, he went in the direction of the Church. "One way's as good as another," he said to himself.

Then, suddenly, after turning a corner, he found the whole family of Dunns proceeding leisurely churchwards; Richard Dunn and his wife together, and in front Nancy, looking very sweet and modest, in her dark dress and straw bonnet, and the two children, one on each side of her.

"Fine day," Dunn said, as Archie came up.

"Very fine," responded Archie. "Just what the farmers are wanting now."

Nancy stopped to speak to him, quite simply and naturally. She did not blush, or seem to be thinking about herself, but only said, "We have been wanting so to thank you again for what you did that day."

"Yes, I thought you'd have been to see us by this time," remarked Dunn. "Come along with us, lad; unless your mother's waiting for you anywhere."

"No, she don't go in the morning," said Archie. Honesty prompted him to add, "I don't either—most commonly. She and I go of an evening."

"Come with us to-day," suggested Dunn again.

"I don't mind if I do," said Archie. "Only I haven't got a Prayer-book."

"We're close home. Dick 'll run back for one,—mother's old one, Dick. It's on the book-case."

"You won't mind having my old one?" asked Susan. "Nancy and the children gave me a new one my last birthday,—look, isn't it a beauty?" And she unfolded a sheltering silk handkerchief. "I shouldn't like to lend that. But my old one's quite tidy."

Dick ran off at once, and overtook them close to the Church door.

It was a large building with lofty pillars; and low open seats, all free; and a good organ, the gift of Dunn's new employer, Mr. Rawdon. Mr. Wilmot read well, in clear reverent tones; and the congregation—largely composed of working-men and their families—joined heartily in the responses. There was plenty of singing, a good choir taking the lead; but the congregation did not sit or stand and idly listen to the choir. Mr. Wilmot was very particular about having well-known simple tunes, and he often impressed upon his people the duty of every one in Church taking an active personal share in the public worship of God.

So a more hearty yet reverent service could hardly have been found.

After the second hymn, Mr. Wilmot stood up in the pulpit,—looking pale still, some thought,—and gave out his text twice over, in far-reaching tones:

"St. Luke xxii. 33: 'Lord, I am ready to go with Thee, both into
prison and to death.'"