“Here we are!” she exclaimed, in a few minutes. Jumping and following her the three other pilgrims were soon walking down a side street toward St. Michael’s.
At a house next door Amy obtained the key, and the friends in a moment had the building to themselves. They found the interior a little different from that of any other church they had ever seen; instead of being long and narrow, its cruciform shape was almost that of a square. It had a rather strange-looking ceiling, from which was suspended a fine chandelier, the gift, Amy told them, of a merchant of Bristol, England.
“When it was built, in 1714,” said Amy, again referring to her notebook, “the frame and all the materials were brought from England. Of course inside it has been altered and freshened in some ways, but still it gives a good idea of what an old eighteenth-century church was like.”
“It’s a wonder it never burnt down,” said Julia; “it’s so near the centre of the town, and I know that there have been many fires in Marblehead.”
“It was in great danger in the fire of 1877; but when the roof caught, a young man named Gorman found a foothold on the top of a house near by, and in this way was able to attack the flames, and the rector, Mr. Ward, kept hold of the rope which he had tied around the young man’s waist, while he battled with the blaze, and finally put it out before it had done much damage.”
“I don’t suppose that it was a very popular church during the Revolution,” said Nora; “for so many Episcopalians were apt to be Loyalists.”
