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Updated: May 28, 2025
She had leaned on the gallery-rail and studied him intently. In spite of all else that had happened and was happening, he could not help wondering why. Though Mrs. Luke Presson was not especially interested in the practical side of plain politics, yet it was a part of her social methods to make tame cats of men of State influence as far as she was able.
On the instant the noise from the organ ceased, and he saw the black figure of a woman rise above the gallery-rail and look down. "Who is it?" the indubitable voice of Miss Madden demanded sharply. Theron had a sudden sheepish notion of turning and running. With the best grace he could summon, he called out an explanation instead. "Wait a minute. I'm through now. I'm coming down," she returned.
Another breathless moment more breathless than the other; then a second arrow flew across the court and hung quivering in the breast of the dummy. From both ends of the gallery men came running, and leaning eagerly over the gallery-rail they watched the Coroner as he stepped again into view to make a second examination.
The cry of a waking infant, the scraping of restless feet on the sanded floor, the lumbering noise of the motions of a cramped farmer as he stood up to lean over the pew-door or gallery-rail, the clatter of an overturned cricket, the twittering of swallows in the rafters, and in the summer-time the bumping and buzzing of an invading bumble-bee as he soared through the air and against the walls, were the only sounds within the meeting-house that broke the monotonous "thirteenthly" and "fourteenthly" of the minister's sermon.
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