Esther | Page 3

other experience in life,
as that "I have five millions," or, "I am the best-dressed woman in the
church,--therefore I am somebody." The fact of self-consciousness
would not have struck them as warranting a claim even to a good social
position, much less to a share in omnipotence; they knew the trait only
as a sign of bad manners. Yet there were at least two persons among the
glorified chrysanthemums of St. John's Garden this day, who as the
sermon closed and the organ burst out again, glanced at each other with
a smile as though they had enjoyed their lecture.
"Good!" said the man. "He takes hold."
"I hope he believes it all," said his companion.
"Yes, he has put his life into the idea," replied the man. "Even at
college he would have sent us all off to the stake with a sweet smile, for
the love of Christ and the glory of the English Episcopal Church."
The crowd soon began to pour slowly out of the building and the two
observers were swept along with the rest until at length they found
themselves outside, and strolled down the avenue. A voice from behind
stopped them.

"Esther!" it called.
Esther turned and greeted the caller as aunt. She was a woman of about
fifty, still rather handsome, but with features to which time had given
an expression of character and will that harmonized only with a manner
a little abrupt and decided. She had the air of a woman who knew her
own mind and commonly had her own way.
"Well, Esther, I am glad to see you taking George to church. Has he
behaved himself?"
"You are wrong again, Aunt Sarah," said George; "it is I who have
been taking Esther to church. I thought it was worth seeing."
"Church is always worth seeing, George, and I hope your friend Mr.
Hazard's sermon has done you good."
"It did me good to see Wharton there," answered George; "he looked as
though it were a first representation, and he were in a stage box. Hazard
and he ought to have appeared before the curtain, hand in hand, and
made little speeches. I felt like calling them out."
"What did you think of it, Esther?" asked her aunt.
"I thought it very entertaining, Aunt Sarah. I felt like a butterfly in a
tulip bed. Mr. Hazard's eyes are wonderful."
"I shall never get you two to be reverential," said her aunt sternly. "It
was the best sermon I ever heard, and I would like to hear you answer it,
George, and make your answer as little scientific as you can."
"Aunt Sarah, I never answered any one in my life, not even you, or
Esther, or the man who said that my fossil bird was a crocodile. Why
do you want me to answer him?"
"Because I don't believe you can."
"I can't. I am a professor of paleontology at the college, and I answer
questions about bones. You must get my colleague who does the

metaphysics to answer Hazard's sermon. Hazard and I have had it out
fifty times, and discussed the whole subject till night reeled, but we
never got within shouting distance of each other. He might as well have
stood on the earth, and I on the nearest planet, and bawled across. So
we have given it up."
"You mean that you were beaten," rejoined his aunt. "I am glad you
feel it, though I always knew it was so. After all, Mr. Hazard has got
more saints on his church walls than he will ever see in his audience,
though not such pretty ones. I never saw so many lovely faces and
dresses together. Esther, how is your father to-day?"
"Not very well, aunt. He wants to see you. Come home with us and
help us to amuse him."
So talking, all three walked along the avenue to 42d Street, and turning
down it, at length entered one of the houses about half way between the
avenues. Up-stairs in a sunny room fitted up as a library and large
enough to be handsome, they found the owner, William Dudley, a man
of sixty or thereabouts, sitting in an arm-chair before the fire, trying to
read a foreign review in which he took no interest. He moved with an
appearance of effort, as though he were an invalid, but his voice was
strong and his manner cheerful.
"I hoped you would all come. This is an awful moment. Tell me
instantly, Sarah; is St. Stephen a success?"
"Immense! St. Stephen and St. Wharton too. The loveliest clergyman,
the sweetest church, the highest-toned sermon and the lowest-toned
walls," said she. "Even George owns that he has no criticisms to make."
"Aunt Sarah tells the loftiest truth, Uncle William,"