We entered the gate, Mrs.Petulengro leading the way, and proceeded to a small door near the east end of the church.

As we advanced, the sound of singing within the church rose upon our ears.

Arrived at the small door, Mrs.
Petulengro opened it and entered, followed by Tawno Chikno.

I myself went last of all, following Mr.Petulengro, who, before I entered, turned round and, with a significant nod, advised me to take care how I behaved.
The part of the church which we had entered was the chancel; on one side stood a number of venerable old men--probably the neighbouring poor--and on the other a number of poor girls belonging to the village school, dressed in white gowns and straw bonnets, whom two elegant but simply dressed young women were superintending.

Every voice seemed to be united in singing a certain anthem, which, notwithstanding it was written neither by Tate nor Brady, contains some of the sublimest words which were ever put together, not the worst of which are those which burst on our ears as we entered.
"Every eye shall now behold Him, Robed in dreadful majesty; Those who set at nought and sold Him, Pierced and nailed Him to the tree, Deeply wailing, Shall the true Messiah see." Still following Mrs.Petulengro, we proceeded down the chancel and along the aisle; notwithstanding the singing, I could distinctly hear as we passed many a voice whispering, "Here come the gypsies! here come the gypsies!" I felt rather embarrassed, with a somewhat awkward doubt as to where we were to sit; none of the occupiers of the pews, who appeared to consist almost entirely of farmers, with their wives, sons, and daughters, opened a door to admit us.