The bells pealed their call to prayer and the congregation began their stately procession, past the moss mottled tombstones and in through the open church door.  They moved in unconscious symmetry, their feet keeping time to the organists’ rendition of Mine Eyes have Seen the Glory.

From behind the vestry curtain, Reverend Richards watched his flock follow each other down the aisle, like so many sheep gathering into the fold.

‘Glory,’ he thought, ‘is a good word.  A good beginning.’  He closed the curtain and returned to the robing area.  The organist moved onto the next part of his recital as the parishioners took their seats and began their silent meditations.

The organist reached the end of his repertoire, but there was no movement from the vestry, so he started back at the beginning with Mine Eyes have Seen.

In the park at the end of the graveyard, Glory Richards straightened the seams in her stockings and, pulling her wrap around her shoulders, settled on the bench.  A good beginning indeed.