In the Church From end to end the huge barn that men dedicate as a home to the Creator of all existing things was filled with people.

Pushing, crowding, and crushing one another, the few who were leaving and the many who were entering filled the air with exclamations of distress.

Even from afar an arm would be stretched out to dip the fingers in the holy water, but at the critical moment the surging crowd would force the hand away.

Then would be heard a complaint, a trampled woman would upbraid some one, but the pushing would continue.

Some old people might succeed in dipping their fingers in the water, now the color of slime, where the population of a whole town, with transients besides, had washed.