I listened eagerly
while he read the chapter and the hymn. The latter was one of my
favorites:--
"See Israel's gentle Shepherd stands;"
and the chapter was the third of St. Matthew, containing the
story of our Lord's baptism. I could not make out any special
message for us, until be came to the words, "Whose fan is in his
hand."
That must be it! I looked anxiously at my sisters, to see if they
had brought their fans. It was warm weather, and I had taken a
little one of my own to meeting. Believing that I was following a
direct instruction, I clasped my fan to my bosom and held it
there as we walked up the aisle, and during the ceremony,
wondering why the others did not do so, too. The baby in my
mother's arms--Octavia, the eighth daughter--shocked me by crying
a little, but I tried to behave the better on that account.
It all seemed very solemn and mysterious to me. I knew from my
father's and mother's absorbed manner then, and when we returned
from church, that it was something exceedingly important to
Them--something that they wished us neither to talk about nor to
forget.
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