Page:The Star in the Window.pdf/276

266 now that it was the first Sunday in September.

It had been a long time since she had attended a communion service. She had felt shy about taking part in so intimate a ceremony in the big imposing city churches, and had always withdrawn. She was, however, a member of the Ridgefield Congregational Church, and had been, ever since she was thirteen years old. She never missed a single communion service at home. This little white-steepled, cool-shadowed church, into which Reba had wandered, was of her own denomination, and when the kind-faced, white-haired old deacon offered her the silver plate piled high with holy white bread it seemed more natural to accept a piece of it than to refuse. Reba was instinctively religious, and never before had she been in such need of religion as to-day. Never before had the words of the old familiar hymn, which, here, just as at home in Ridgefield, the church choir sang over the silently-bowed heads of the congregation, "Just as I am, without one plea," been so full of meaning to her. The church with its cool shadows, long silences, interrupted by such sweetly familiar sounds as the silvery gurgle of grape-juice flowing into deep goblets, the repetition of familiar Scriptural passages, the music of old hymns, over-sentimental though they may be, acted like spiritual food upon Reba. And when she emerged again upon the elm-shaded street, she was strangely strengthened and renewed. A peculiar calm took the place of her forebodings, a peculiar feeling of indifference to the conclusions about her back at the Alliance possessed her, a miraculous peace fell upon her, like sleep upon a tired and exhausted traveler.