"What's he doing anyway?" said Ewen. "I'm going to see."
Gradually a little company gathered behind young Pickles and Pat McCann.
The window commanded a view of the room, yet in such a way that the
group were unobserved by the speaker.
"Say, you ought to seen him do the camel a minute ago," whispered
Pickles.
In the little vestry room were packed some twenty children of all ages
and sizes, with a number of grownups who had joined the class in charge
of some of its younger members. There was, for instance, Mrs. Innes,
with the two youngest of her numerous progeny pillowed against her
yielding and billowy person; and Mrs. Stewart Duff, an infant of only a
few weeks upon her knee accounting sufficiently for the paleness of
her sweet face, and two or three other women with their small children
filling the bench that ran along the wall.
"Say! look at Harry Hobbs," said Pat McCann to his friend.
Upon the stove, which in summer was relegated to the corner of the room,
sat Harry Hobbs, a man of any age from his appearance, thin and wiry,
with keen, darting eyes, which now, however, were fastened upon the
preacher.
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