doors—more than a half hour before the service was scheduled to begin. All England seemed to be represented; every class. Fortunately, a place was found for me in one of the far corners of the ambulatory. If one had to see the music to appreciate it I would have been quite "out of luck," as we say. I sat there face-to-back of the gloomy choir stalls, in which the singers were seated and in front of which was massed the orchestra with its scores of instruments. I could catch rare glimpses, however, of intersecting arches, of soaring columns, of massive pillars, of a triforium gallery. My eyes wandered through a pointed arch and fell upon the magnificent reredos that filled the entire back of the sanctuary, containing many scores of saintly figures, who, too, seemed to be peering about from their dim niches. My mind wandered. I fancied that those of my neighbors were no doubt doing the same. What were they all thinking about?...
This little rag-bag just ahead of me wearing the feather-duster bonnet might be a slavey? Her little red eyes were fastened on the reredos with a frown. Quite likely she was worrying over the problem of dusting off all those saints, every Friday, let us say, before tea time.... The young chap next to her was pursing his lips. He would be a draper. He was no doubt questioning the cut and color of the costumes worn by the saints
