ter which the organ
played by itself for a hundred years--by the organist's watch, which
was wrong, two minutes exactly--and then another verse began. My father,
being the patron of the living, was careful to sing and pray and listen
to the sermon with exemplary attention, aware that every eye in the
little church was on our pew, and at first I tried to imitate him; but
the behaviour of my legs became so alarming that after vainly casting
imploring glances at him and seeing that he continued his singing
unmoved, I put out my hand and pulled his sleeve.

"Hal-le-lu-jah," sang my father with deliberation; continuing in a
low voice without changing the expression of his face, his lips
hardly moving, and his eyes fixed abstractedly on the ceiling till the
organist, who was also the postman, should have finished his solo, "Did
I not tell thee to sit still, Elizabeth?" "Yes, but----" "Then do it."
"But I want to go home."

"Unsinn." And the next verse beginning, my father sang louder than ever.
What could I do? Should I cry? I began to be afraid I was going to die
on that chair, so extraordinary were the sensations in my legs. What
could my father do to me if I did cry? With the quick instinct of small
children I felt that he could not put me in the corner in church, nor
would he whip me in public, and that with the whole village looking
on, he was helpless, and would have to give in. Therefore I tugged his
sleeve again and more peremptorily, and prepared to demand my immediate
removal in a loud voice. But my father was ready for me. Without
interrupting his singing, or altering his devout expression, he put his
hand slowly down and gave me a hard pinch--not a playful pinch, but a
good hard unmistakeable pinch, such as I had never imagined possible,
and then went on serenely to the next hallelujah. For a moment I was
petrified with astonishment. Was this my indulgent father, my playmate,
adorer, and friend? Smarting with pain, for I was a round baby, with
a nicely stretched, tight skin, and dreadfully hurt in my feelings, I
opened my mouth to shriek in earnest, when my father's clear whisper
fell on my ear, each word distinct and not to be misunderstood, his eyes
as before gazing meditatively into space, and his lips hardly moving,
"Elizabeth, wenn du schreist, kneife ich dich bis du platzt." And he
finished the verse with unruffled decorum--

"Will Satan mich verschlingen,
So lass die Engel singen