surprise, jumped in sympathy, although not as high.

The singing over, the worshipers sat down. Captain Eben took a
figured handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead. The thin,
nearsighted young woman who had been humped over the keyboard of the
melodeon, straightened up. The worshipers relaxed a little and began to
look about.

Then the captain adjusted his spectacles and opened a Bible, which he
took from the table beside him. Clearing his throat, he announced that
he would read from the Word, tenth chapter of Jeremiah:

"'Thus saith the Lord. Learn not the way of the heathen, and be not
dismayed at the signs of heaven; for the heathen are dismayed at them.

"'For the customs of the people are vain: for one cutteth a tree out of
the forest, the work of the hands of the workmen, with the ax.'"

He read in a measured singsong, stopping occasionally to hold the book
in a better light and peering at the fine print through his spectacles.
And as he read, there was a sudden rustle on one of the back benches. A
child had turned, stared, and pulled at its mother's sleeve. The rustle
grew and spread.

Captain Eben drawled on to the twentieth verse:

"'My tabernacle is spoiled and all my cords are broken: my children are
gone forth from me, and they are not: there is none to stretch forth my
tent any more, and to set up my curtains!