the edges of the hymnal were tinted red. Then the people sang amen. She sat down with them. The seats about her were nearly empty. The voices had sounded so because the church was empty. As the minister read the Declaration of Absolution, he again seemed very far away. She could not interpret his intonations; could God? All the Iosco students read the service that way now. They were not like the strong men who used to be in the church. Kemper and Adams, they had been up there in the chancel men like the new North West that was. The Reverend Burleson and the Reverend Armstrong, they were men of the low church, and they were strong men. How she remembered - they were of Paul's breed. Now, far away, the up and down and slide of the nasal voice. The glory had departed out of Israel. Venite, exultimus Domino-Te Deum laudamus she was seated again. There was no Benedicte. Once more the chill emptiness of the place crowded against her. Of the Young family that had filled two seats across the aisle, not one was left. Of the Butlers there were nine children - only a greyhaired old man, trembling and groping his way through his prayer book. Little Nettie Richards, who used to sit ahead of her, tossing her pretty black curls, she was buried beside Puget Sound. James Boyle, who used to watch Nettie from the seat behind, dead of the fever in Manila. An opaque greyness was closing in about her as she looked here and there. It seemed to Ellen that death extended from this place where she sat, extended like a toneless grey substance to the ends of the earth. It cov ered the walls. The rafters and great cross-beams hung with it. The seats were bulked with it. The light of the stained windows hung green and yellow strips and patches upon the greyness. From here to the ends of the earth "Lift up your hearts"- the tone from the chancel. "We lift them up"- the response from the grey beings about her. The Coena Domini. "Draw nigh and take”— Ellen shuddered. She saw the gold cup at the lips of her dying husband. She had taken that cup after him. People were going past her. With their heads bowed they were going up the steps to the altar rail. These people who had lied and slandered, who had taken the death-sin to their hearts month after month, they were going up to the altar, and Ernest, a good man, a man good as gold, her husband, was dead. The urn of violets withering against the pale green and yellow of the grave floated in her vision. "Draw nigh and take"- the choir was repeating the communion chant. Ernest would want her to go. It was the last thing that they had done together. An awful emotion swept through her, scattering the snow in her breast. He was standing there in the aisle waiting for her. The candles gleamed on the altar, and the gold cross and the gold service dishes gleamed. She put out her hand. It fell through the dim air to the seat. He had not taken it; but she rose from where she knelt. She said to herself, "He willed it." With her head bowed she went forward. Perhaps when she took the cup, the agony would break. She kneeled at the altar rail and laid her right hand in her left with the palm up, to receive the bread. Her heart began to writhe with all the physical pain of a frozen member which is brought to sudden heat. She felt the nerves through her body draw and vibrate and shake her. They pulled at the back of her head. Her arms were two flames thrusting out from her. "Do this in remembrance” — the bread was lying in her hand. "Do this in remembrance" - yes, yes, in remembrance. She tried to raise her hand to her lips. Blood seemed to be flowing from her eyes. Suddenly, in front of the stained window behind the altar, she saw a bright object swinging. It was swinging from the rafter above and coming down, down, down, down past the lamb in the arms of the Savior, down past the Savior's feet. It crawled down the golden cross and ran swiftly to an ebony book rack that stood near an elevation on the altar. Between the two it wove a filament out of itself, then another, another and another. The priest went on down the line of people, the spider wove. The web was growing black against the white altar cloth. He wove swiftly, he grew larger and larger. Colors stood out on him, spikes of color. Backward, forward — he grew scarlet and yellow - he burned. The minister turned to his altar, the spider sat in his web, great and brilliant. The minister stood before his altar, little and grey, playing with gold trinkets. The spider sat in his web, burning and brilliant. Ellen felt a great spasm of fear, of hypnotic fear, seize her. She would leap over the altar rail and take that burning, beautiful thing in her hands. She rose and hastened out of the church against the eyes of the people. She held something in her hand. As she went slowly beneath the great maples, with the little pink bells dropping upon her, she opened her hand to see the burning spider, and saw the white flake of communion bread. Unmindful By CATHARINE CRANMER Two strong oaks and an age-bent apple tree, Close by the grave that sinks lower every year Pert motors hiss and locomotives thunder, Thankless for paths his youth and faith made clear, And powerless to charge his sleep with wonder! In a Mail Order House By RICHARD Warner Borst White envelopes, like foam upon the waves, 'Way up in Michigan, John Spangler's wife Must have a couple yards of calico; "And send it quick," she says, "I need it bad.” Desires a foulard silk, "White, striped with green.' So flies the morning; and the world without move Through lucent thoroughfares of shining towns. |