One was a dark man with black curly hair brushed down in
"bangs" over his eyebrows, who sat behind a green baize curtain
near the outside door, peeping out at me, as I thought. I had an
impression that he was the "tidy-man," though that personage had
become mythical long before my day. He had a dragonish look, to
me; and I tried never to meet his glance.
But I did sometimes gaze more earnestly than was polite at a
dear, demure little lady who sat in the corner of the pew next
ours, her downcast eyes shaded by a green calash, and her hidden
right hand gently swaying a long-handled Chinese fan. She was the
deacon's wife, and I felt greatly interested in her movements and
in the expression of her face, because I thought she represented
the people they called "saints," who were, as I supposed, about
the same as first cousins to the angels.
The third figure in sight was the minister. I did not think he
ever saw me; he was talking to the older people,--usually telling
them how wicked they were.
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