No one out of the precincts of the Park had been invited, and as it was, there was a goodly number.
As there was no church near enough for them to go to, Rowland read the evening service in the school-room; after this he gave out one of the hymns for harvest, and led the youthful band in singing it.

His fine clear voice seemed to give the children courage, especially when a beautiful full treble joined, to which they were evidently accustomed.
It was impossible not to try to discover from whom those sweet notes proceeded, and one by one everybody looked at Gladys, who had a magnificent voice; she, however, was unconscious of observation, for her eyes were fixed on her hymn-book that she was sharing with a small child.
It must be acknowledged that she not unfrequently distracted the attention of many a young man from his hymn-book on Sunday, when at church; and on the present occasion, what with the face and the voice, more than one pair of eyes were fixed on her.

Owen, I am sorry to say, looked more attentively at her than at his book; and, as to Colonel Vaughan, he never took his eyes off her face, and was heard to whisper the question of 'Who is that girl ?' to Lady Mary Nugent.
When the hymn was sung, Rowland stood behind the high desk of the mistress, and gave a short lecture on the words, 'Thou crownest the year with thy goodness.' Rowland was not ungifted with the talent for extempore preaching, common to so many of his countrymen, and therewith possessed, in general, much self-possession; on the present occasion, it must be confessed that he felt unusually nervous, still he commanded himself and his feelings, and by degrees, forgetting them and his hearers, in his subject, warmed into a natural flow of eloquence that somewhat astonished his congregation, and entirely gained their attention.
Beneath a quiet exterior Rowland hid a romantic and poetic mind, which few, if any of his friends knew anything about; for he had never shown his poetry to them, and never attempted to publish it.

But it sometimes appeared, in spite of his efforts to repress it, in his sermons; and now it made a desperate effort to burst forth, and conquered.
There was so much to excite the enthusiasm of a young preacher in that harvest-home gathering--in the mows of golden corn heaped up against the future--in the splendid autumn weather they were then enjoying--in the bright sunshine and many-hued leaves of the changing trees--and the goodness of God crowning the whole! I am not going through his sermon, for I should only mar what his feelings made powerful.

Suffice it to say that some of his friends had tears in their eyes as he preached; others, according to the custom of their country, uttered occasional exclamations of approval as he went on, and some were glad to own him as their near and dear relation.
Perhaps the proudest moment of the farmer's life was when Mr Gwynne went up to him after that short discourse, and shook him by the hand, with the words--emphatic words for him-- 'Well, Prothero, I congratulate you upon your son.