The tenor confided to me behind the organ that Mrs.Tretherick had a way of sustaining a note at the end of a line in order that her voice might linger longer with the congregation--an act that could be attributed only to a defective moral nature; that as a man (he was a very popular dry goods clerk on weekdays, and sang a good deal from apparently behind his eyebrows on the Sabbath)--that as a man, sir, he would put up with it no longer.
The basso alone--a short German with a heavy voice, for which he seemed reluctantly responsible, and rather grieved at its possession--stood up for Mrs.Tretherick, and averred that they were jealous of her because she was "bretty." The climax was at last reached in an open quarrel, wherein Mrs.Tretherick used her tongue with such precision of statement and epithet that the soprano burst into hysterical tears, and had to be supported from the choir by her husband and the tenor.

This act was marked intentionally to the congregation by the omission of the usual soprano solo.

Mrs.Tretherick went home flushed with triumph, but on reaching her room frantically told Carry that they were beggars henceforward; that she--her mother--had just taken the very bread out of her darling's mouth, and ended by bursting into a flood of penitent tears.

They did not come so quickly as in her old poetical days; but when they came they stung deeply.

She was roused by a formal visit from a vestryman--one of the music committee.