The repressed magnetic excitement in gatherings of familiar faces, fellow-beings bound by the same convention to the same kind of behaviour, is precious in communities where the human interest is still thin and sparse.

It is valuable in itself, and it produces an occasional detached sensation.

There was the case, in Dr Drummond's church, of placid-faced, saintly old Sandy MacQuhot, the epileptic.

It used to be a common regret with Lorne Murchison that as sure as he was allowed to stay away from church Sandy would have a fit.

That was his little boy's honesty; the elders enjoyed the fit and deprecated the disturbance.
There was a simple and definite family feeling within communions.