It was a far cry from
worshipping in the Gothic cathedral to camping in the simple little
Dutch church; but in each the air was vibrating to the same martial
hymn.
Little by little, the groups scattered over the floor fell into
silence. Here and there, one took up the refrain, now humming it
softly, now singing it with full voice. Then the refrain died away;
there was an instant's hush, an instant's modulation; and, as a man,
the crowd beneath rose to their feet and stood, pipe in hand, while
slowly, steadily from the organ came rolling down the familiar notes
of God Save the Queen.
The organ was closed with a muffled clatter, the organist rose and
slowly came down to the floor. With a friendly word here and there,
he passed among the troopers who saluted him and then settled
themselves again for comfort and their pipes. Last of all, he paused
beside Weldon.
"It is good to put my fingers on the keys again," he said, as he sat
down for a moment on the low rail. "We had an organ at home, and I
miss it. I builded better than I knew, when I chose this place for
our barracks. One rarely finds an organ out here."
Just then an orderly lighted the chancel where they stood.
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