Dust lay thickly on the pulpit Bible , the choir chairs , and the pew backs . `` This church looks disgraceful , '' said John Robbins in an angry undertone to his daughter Polly , who was president of the Flower Band . `` What in the name of common sense is the good of your Flower Banders if you ca n't keep the place looking decent ? '' `` There is no Flower Band now , Father , '' whispered Polly in turn . `` We 've disbanded . Women have n't any business to meddle in church matters . You know the session said so . '' It was well for Polly that she was too big to have her ears boxed . Even so , it might not have saved her if they had been anywhere else than in church . Meanwhile the men who were sitting in the choir -- three basses and two tenors -- were beginning to dimly suspect that there was something amiss here too . Where were the sopranos and the altos ? Myra Wilson and Alethea Craig and several other members of the choir were sitting down in their pews with perfectly unconscious faces . Myra was looking out of the window into the tangled sunlight and shadow of the great maples . Alethea Craig was reading her Bible . Presently Frances Spenslow came in . Frances was organist , but today , instead of walking up to the platform , she slipped demurely into her father 's pew at one side of the pulpit . Eben Craig , who was the Putney singing master and felt himself responsible for the choir , fidgeted uneasily . He tried to catch Frances 's eye , but she was absorbed in reading the mission report she had found in the rack , and Eben was finally forced to tiptoe down to the Spenslow pew and whisper , `` Miss Spenslow , the minister is waiting for the doxology . Are n't you going to take the organ ? '' Frances looked up calmly .
Her clear , placid voice was audible not only XXXXX those in the nearby pews , but to the minister .
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