tically at Brown.

"Recently caught," he explained, "but means no harm."

Brown nodded.

"Proceed with the reading," he said.

French laid down his pipe, took off his hat, Kalman following his
example, and began to read. Instinctively, as he read, his voice took
a softer modulation than in ordinary speech. His manner, too, became
touched with reverent dignity. His very face seemed to grow finer.
Brown sat listening, with his face glowing with pleasure and surprise.

"Fine old hymn that! Great hymn! And finely read, if I might say
so. Now we'll sing."

His voice was strong, true, and not unmusical, and what he lacked
of finer qualities he made up in volume and force. His visitors
joined in the singing, Kalman following the air in a low sweet
tone, French singing bass.

"Can't you sing any louder?" said Brown to Kalman. "There's nobody
to disturb but the fish and the Galicians up yonder. Pipe up, my
boy, if you can. I couldn't sing softly if I tried. Can he sing?"
he enquired of French.

"Don't know. Sing up, Kalman, if you can," said French.

Then Kalman sat up and sang. Strong, pure, clear, his voice rose
upon the night until it seemed to fill the whole space of clearing
and to soar away off into the sky. As the boy sang, French laid
down the book and in silence gazed upon the singer's face. Through
verse after verse the others sang to the end.

"I say, boy," said Brown, "you're great! I'd like to hear you sing
that last verse alone. Get up and try it. What do you say?"

Without hesitation the boy rose up. His spirit had caught the
inspiration of the hymn and began,

"Or if on joyful wing
Cleaving the sky,
Sun, moon, and stars forgot,
Upward I fly,
Still all my song shall be,
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee!"

The warm soft light from the glow still left in the western sky
fell on his face and touched his yellow hair with glory. A silence
followed, so deep and full that it seemed to overflow the space so
recently filled with song, and to hold and prolong the melody of
that exquisite voice. Brown reached across and put his hand on the
boy's shoulder.

"Boy, boy," he said solemnly, "keep that voice for God. It surely
belongs to Him."

French neither spoke nor moved. He could not. Deep floods were
surging through him. For one brief moment he saw in vision a
little ivy-coloured church in its environment of quiet country
lanes in far-away