“O all ye Works of the Lord, bless ye the Lord: praise him and magnify him forever!”
The women throughout the hall leaned forward to look as the reiterated cadences filled the air. Mrs. Cheyne, with some others, began to breathe short; she had hardly imagined there were so many widows in the world; and instinctively searched for Harvey. He had found the We’re Here s at the back of the audience, and was standing, as by right, between Dan and Disko. Uncle Salters, returned the night before with Penn, from Pamlico Sound, received him suspiciously.
“Hain’t your folk gone yet?” he grunted. “What are you doin’ here, young feller?”
“O ye Seas and Floods, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him forever!”
“Hain’t he good right?” said Dan. “He’s bin there, same as the rest of us.”
“Not in them clothes,” Salters snarled.
“Shut your head, Salters,” said Disko. “Your bile’s gone back on you. Stay right where ye are, Harve.”
Then up and spoke the orator of the occasion, another pillar of the municipality, bidding the world welcome to Gloucester, and incidentally pointing out wherein Gloucester excelled the rest of the world. Then he turned to the sea-wealth of the city, and spoke of the price that must be paid for the yearly harvest. They would hear later the names of their lost dead one hundred and seventeen of them. (The widows stared a little, and looked at one another here.) Gloucester could not boast any overwhelming mills or factories. Her sons worked for such wage as the sea gave; and they all knew that neither Georges nor the Banks were cow-pastures.