We went to church this morning, it[Pg 43] being Sunday—Aunt Gwendolin, Uncle Theodore, and I. Grandmother was indisposed and did not go. It was my first attendance at church, for Aunt Gwendolin said I had nothing fit to wear until she dressed me up.

"Are you going, Theodore?" I heard my aunt, through the opening in the floor, say in a surprised tone, as if she were not accustomed to seeing him go.

"I think I'll go this morning," returned my uncle, continuing to brush his coat, which act had prompted my aunt's question. "I want to see how our fashionable way of worshipping God will impress the little Celestial. It will be her first attendance at church."

Aunt Gwendolin came up to my room and selected the gown I was to wear, in fact my whole outfit. She took from the wardrobe a white French cloth[Pg 44] costume (it was very much in harmony with my feelings that I should appear in America's church for the first time in the colour which China uses for mourning), and one of the beehive hats with several birds on it.

"Oh, I can't wear that if anybody is going to see me," I cried when she brought out the hat.

"Well, if you are going to make a scene," said my aunt curtly, "wear this," and she brought from its bandbox a "sailor" covered with white drooping ostrich feathers. "You'll look sweet in that," she added; "and when you get more used to civilised head-gear you can wear the others."

"Do we go to church to look sweet?" I inquired.

"Oh, dear, no," she answered impatiently, "but there is nothing gained in[Pg 45] being a fright—were there no Christians in your country to hold meetings?"

Without waiting for my reply, she dived into the closet and brought out my fur tippet, but I begged so hard not to wear it, that she said as the day was mild I need not.

I'll have to see grandmother and have it disposed of before another churchgoing time.

Aunt Gwendolin herself was beautifully dressed in a light blue-gray; at a glance she looked like a passing cloud dropped down from the sky, but a closer inspection revealed a mystery of shirrings, tuckings, smockings, frillings never seen in a cloud. In reply to my questions she had told me the name of all the strange puckerings. I'd like the cloud-gown better without the puckerings.

[Pg 46]

"What do we go to church for?" I asked as we were being whirled along in the automobile, which was controlled by a very good-looking young man whom they called "Chauffeur."

"Why—Why—What a heathen you are! To worship God, of course," said my aunt shortly.

"Does God require us to wear such fashionable clothes to worship Him?" I asked, feeling wearied with the effort of dressing—collars, belts, buckles, pins, gloves, corsets, shoes, hats, buttonings, and lacings.

Uncle Theodore laughed, and Aunt Gwendolin frowned, and looked carefully round to see whether her white taffeta petticoat was touching the ground—we were by this time at the church and walking from the automobile to the church door.

[Pg 47]

Following Aunt Gwendolin's lead, we were soon in a front seat.

We were there but a few moments when a number of young men and women, dressed in black robes, with white ties under their chins, came in through some back door behind the gallery where they afterwards stood, and began to sing.

"Lead me to the Li-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-ight," sang one young woman, all in a tremble.

"Lead me to the Li-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-ight," sang a man in a heavy voice.

Then the woman screeched in as high notes as her voice could reach, I am sure, and the man ran away down to a growl.

After the whole company had repeated "Lead me to the Light," they began to sing against each other, all in a jumble; they seemed to finish the song in some foreign language. I did not know a[Pg 48] word of it. I suppose as it was for the worship of God it did not matter whether any one else understood it or not.

After the singing was done, a man—the minister they call him—Uncle Theodore has since told me—stood up before the people and read a verse from the Bible—one of the verses I have not got to yet in my reading with grandmother. Then he began to talk about the hardships of poor missionaries out in what he called "the unchristianised West of our own country," and the awful need of the natives. It was "missionary Sunday;" a bulletin lying in the seat acquainted us with the fact, and the music and the sermon were to be of a missionary character.

The minister told a story about a young man who had gone out as a missionary to the Indians, who was living[Pg 49] in a shack, twelve by fourteen, cooking his own meals, and eating and sleeping in the one room. He had not salary enough to pay his board.

When the minister had talked half an hour, and had us all wrought up about the woes of the missionary, and the needs of the heathen, he closed his sermon. And we leaned back in our seats and were lulled into forgetfulness of the grievous story, by low-toned, dreamy, soothing music, from the echo organ. Aunt Gwendolin has told me since that the organ cost seventy thousand dollars.

Christians are most extraordinary people; they rouse one all up to the pitch of being willing to do most anything by a heart-rending address, and then scatter all the impression by their music. When the organist had finished, I wasn't the[Pg 50] least worried about the ills of the missionary or the Indians. Indeed all the people looked relieved, as if a burden had been lifted from them.

When we were again in the automobile Aunt Gwendolin said: "Didn't the church look well this morning? It has been undergoing some repairs, and three thousand dollars' worth of cathedral oak has been added to the wainscoting."

"That would pay the board of the young missionary among the Indians for a long time," I said.

"Hush!" said Aunt Gwendolin impatiently, "do not talk foolishness!"

Perhaps Uncle Theodore thought she shut me up too peremptorily, for he said: "Paying that young man's board out in the West would never be noticed or talked about, my dear; other denominations would pay no attention to[Pg 51] it, while this cathedral oak wainscoting—Oh my! Oh my! will excite the admiration and jealousy of the whole city."

"I love beautiful churches," returned my Aunt Gwendolin poutingly. "I shall take Pearl around to see St. George's, where the altar cost five thousand dollars. It will be an education to the girl. A man gave it in memory of his wife, which was a very beautiful thing to do."

"Pooh!" exclaimed my uncle, "why didn't he do something for some poor wretches who need it, in memory of his wife?"

While they had been talking I was looking at the curious, high-crowned, black, shiny hats (a stove-pipe, Uncle Theodore has since told me they ought to be called) which the men all were wearing. They seem to be as essential in America as the queue is in China.

[Pg 52]

In the afternoon grandmother invited me into her private room to have a quiet talk with her, she said.

"Everything is very new to you, my dear Margaret—Pearl I believe your father called you—in this country, and you must come to me with all your troubling problems. I feel for you, my dear grandchild, and do not fear to say anything, anything at all you feel like saying to me."

She took my small yellow hands in hers, and looked at me lovingly, saying as she gently chafed them that they were very pretty and plump.

There were things puzzling me, had puzzled me that very day, and I felt inclined to place them before my kind granny.

"What are Christians, grandmother?" I asked.

[Pg 53]

"My dear child," said my grandmother, "the word simply means the followers of Christ."

"Oh, it cannot mean that!" I cried, then stopped, abashed.

Grandmother raised her glasses from her eyes, placed them on her forehead, and stared at me in a puzzled way for a few seconds, then she said:

"My dear Pearl, why do you say that?"

She was looking at me and I must answer, although fearing that I had hurt her feelings in some way by my abrupt contradiction.

"You said that the man, Christ, was very kind and gentle, and that He always thought of the good of others before His own," I continued. "Would He pay thousands upon thousands for a grand church, in which to sit and be happy, and[Pg 54] feel rich; and thousands upon thousands for a great organ to play sweet music and make Him forget the world's sorrows, while His brothers were too poor to pay for their board——?"

"No, he would not!" said grandmother, tears welling into her blue eyes.

Jumping from my seat I threw my arms around her neck and kissed her wrinkled, quivering face, saying, "You are a follower of the Princely Man—of the good man, Christ, you are, grandmother——"

A peremptory rap at the door stopped further conversation, and when I opened it, a lady was ushered in to see grandmother.

I was introduced to Mrs. Paton, of whom I had before heard my grandmother speak as "a great Christian worker," and whom I heard my Aunt[Pg 55] Gwendolin denounce as a "tiresome crank, spoiling every one's comfort." I looked very earnestly at the lady, trying to fit her into the two definitions.

Mrs. Paton began almost at once to talk about the "temperance movement," and the "evils of intoxicating liquors," and "the selfishness of the onlooking world, who were not the real sufferers."

She left after the expiration of half an hour, and grandmother said to me: "You would not understand Mrs. Paton's remarks, my dear. You will have to be longer in the country before you know what is meant by the 'evils of intoxicating liquors.' Did you ever really see a drunken man?"

"No, grandmother," I said, "I never even heard of one. Drunk!—what does it mean?"

"Oh," said grandmother, "something[Pg 56] that as a country we have reason to be terribly ashamed of—men drinking intoxicating liquors until they lose their senses——"

Another rap interrupted grandmother, and we were called out to tea. The only really delightful thing they do in this America is to drink tea, just the same as we do in China.

I see how it is; they have a new Confucius in this America, but they do not live the new Confucius—none but my dear grandmother.