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Her friend fairly bristled as she made
reply:
"What! Our heaven? No, indeed! We may be good friends here, Mrs----,
but there--really, you will have to excuse me."
[Illustration: A Cobblestone paved Alley]
Narrow streams are apt to run deep. An incident which I set down in
justice to the uncompromising orthodoxy of that day, made a strong
impression on me. The two concerned in it were my uncle, a generous,
bright, even a brilliant man, but with no great bump of reverence,
and the deacon in the village church where they lived. He was the
exact opposite of my uncle: hard, unlovely, but deeply religious.
The two were neighbors and quarrelled about their fence-line. For
months they did not speak. On Sunday the deacon strode by on his way
to church, and my uncle, who stayed home, improved the opportunity
to point out of what stuff those Pharisees were made, much to his
own edification. Easter week came. In Denmark it is, or was, custom
to go to communion once a year, on Holy Thursday, if at no other
season, and, I might add, rarely at any other.


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