, their very pigtails waggling
with suppressed excitement and admiration, as they looked about the
pretty chancel and listened to the voices of the boys. Mr. Nelson's
glance rested upon them for a moment, then passed on down the middle
aisle, to one of the rear pews, where a stranger was standing, listening
to the anthem with evident enjoyment.

He was a tall, well-built man of thirty, with bright brown hair and
mustache, and his eyes showed large and gray when he raised them, now
and then, as Charlie MacGregor's voice rang out above the rest of the
choir. He appeared to be acquainted with no one there, for he had come
in alone, and without making a sign of recognition to any one as he was
ushered to his seat. Only twice had he seemed to be roused from his
quiet repose of manner. When the first notes of the organ met his ear,
he had glanced in that direction; and any one watching him closely might
have seen him give a sudden start of surprise, while the color rose to
his cheeks, as his eyes rested upon the organist. Once again, in the
processional, he had started up with a quick smile of recognition, when
he looked back at the advancing line of boys, and saw Charlie leading
them; and he had bent towards the aisle to watch the lad, as he passed
on, unconscious of the faces around him, in his happiness at once more
being in his old place, at the head of a choir.

But the service was over, and the choir were coming towards him again,
their voices ringing clear and high in the refrain of Le Jeune's
_Jerusalem, the Golden_. Just as the leaders reached the stranger, there
came a pause between the verses, and Charlie raised his eyes to meet the
gray ones which were watching him so intently. Then his whole face
brightened, and he smiled and nodded in glad recognition, as they went
on down the aisle and out into the tiny choir-room.

The young man moved aside to let the other occupants of the pew pass out
into the aisle; then he stepped back and waited, watching, meanwhile,
the faces of the congregation, as they flocked past him. The group of
Chinamen were lingering in front of the chancel, peering about at the
lectern and font, and gazing up at the flower-laden altar.

"Heap nice; all samee Joss house," he heard one of them saying, with
manifest approval.

Up in her corner beside the chancel, the organist was still playing her
postlude; then she closed the organ, and rose to come down the steps,
drawing on her gloves as sh