A LABRADOR SPRING 



women, young and old, many with babes in 

 arms. The central figure of the procession 

 was the priest dressed in gorgeous vestments 

 and bearing the host. He strode along under a 

 canopy supported by four sturdy fishermen, pre- 

 ceded by a banner, a company of men singers, 

 and four large candle-lanterns, raised aloft on 

 poles by four white-bearded men. Seven boys 

 in scarlet and white took their appointed 

 positions in the group. Behind the priest fol- 

 lowed the long throng of men, all bare-headed, 

 with whom I reverently joined. 



Along the narrow, sandy lane we slowly 

 walked. Great solemnity, piety and adoration 

 of the sacred services were shown on every 

 face. There was no levity, no idle conversation ; 

 there were no lookers-on, all were participants. 

 The men sang, the priest intoned, the bells in 

 the steeple rang forth; a fox sparrow's flute- 

 like tones issued from the brook-side, clear and 

 sweet, and the holy vespers of the hermit thrush 

 came faintly from the distant forest. At last 

 we reached a turning in the lane where the 

 priest entered a repository, gayer still with 

 flags and bright pictures, images and paper 

 flowers, and with carpets placed about. Here, 



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