nd 'tisn' the first time; but young Tom Trevarthen didn' seem to reckon
so. There, get your prayers over and cut along; I'll make it all right
with your grandfather and Susannah."

Ah, but it was bliss, and blissful to remember! The rafts dropped down
past the town quay, past the old lock-houses, past the ivied fort at the
harbour's mouth, and out to the open sea that twinkled for leagues under
the faint northerly breeze, dazzling Myra's eyes. Tom Trevarthen grinned
as he tugged at an enormous sweep with two other men, Methodists both, and
sang with them and with Billy Daddo, who steered with another sweep,
rigged aft upon a crutch--

"Praise ye the Lord! 'Tis good to raise
Your hearts and voices in His praise."--

"Now what should put it in my noddle to take up with that old hemn?" asked
Billy aloud, coming to a halt at the close of the first verse and
scratching his head. "'Tidn' one of my first fav'rites--nothing in it
about the Blood o' the Lamb--an' I can't call to mind havin' pitched it
for years. Well, never mind! The Lord hev done it with some purpose, you
may be sure."

"I call it a very pretty hymn," said Myra, for he seemed to be addressing
her. "And isn't it reason enough that you're glad to be alive?"

"But I bain't," Billy argued, shaking his head. "You wouldn' understand
it at your age, missy; but as a saved soul I counts the days. Long after
I was a man grown, the very sound of 'He comes, He comes! the Judge
severe,' or 'Terrible thought, shall I alone,' used to put me all of a
twitter. Now they be but weak meat, is you might say. 'Ah, lovely
appearance of death'--that's more in my line--

"Ah, lovely appearance of death!
What sight upon earth is so fair?
Not all the gay pageants that breathe
Can with a dead body compare."--

"Don't!" Myra put both hands up to her ears. "Oh, please don't, Mr.
Daddo! And I call it wicked to stand arguing when the Lord, as you say,
put a cheerfuller tune in your head."

"Well, here goes, then!" Billy resumed "Praise ye the Lord." At the
fifth verse his face began to kindle--

"What is the creature's skill or force?
The sprightly man, or warlike horse?
The piercing wit, the active limb,
Are all too mean delights to Him.
But saints are lovely in His sight,
He views His children with delight;
He sees their hope, he knows their fear,
And looks and loves His imag