is thick hair as
he watched Dickon intently. Ben Weatherstaff scrambled up from his
knees and bared his head too with a sort of puzzled half-resentful look
on his old face as if he didn't know exactly why he was doing this
remarkable thing.

Dickon stood out among the trees and rose-bushes and began to sing in
quite a simple matter-of-fact way and in a nice strong boy voice:

"Praise God from whom all blessings flow,
Praise Him all creatures here below,
Praise Him above ye Heavenly Host,
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.
Amen."

When he had finished, Ben Weatherstaff was standing quite still with his
jaws set obstinately but with a disturbed look in his eyes fixed on
Colin. Colin's face was thoughtful and appreciative.

"It is a very nice song," he said. "I like it. Perhaps it means just
what I mean when I want to shout out that I am thankful to the Magic."
He stopped and thought in a puzzled way. "Perhaps they are both the same
thing. How can we know the exact names of everything? Sing it again,
Dickon. Let us try, Mary. I want to sing it, too. It's my song. How does
it begin? 'Praise God from whom all blessings flow'?"

[Illustration: "'PRAISE GOD FROM WHOM ALL BLESSINGS FLOW'"--_Page 344_]

And they sang it again, and Mary and Colin lifted their voices as
musically as they could and Dickon's swelled quite loud and
beautiful--and at the second line Ben Weatherstaff raspingly cleared his
throat and at the third he joined in with such vigor that it seemed
almost savage and when the "Amen" came to an end Mary observed that the
very same thing had happened to him which had happened when he found out
that Colin was not a cripple--his chin was twitching and he was staring
and winking and his leathery old cheeks were wet.

"I never seed no sense in th' Doxology afore," he said hoarsely, "but I
may change my mind i' time. I should say tha'd gone up five pound this
week, Mester Colin--five on 'em!"

Colin was looking across the garden at something attracting his
attention and his expression had become a startled one.

"Who is coming in here?" he said quickly. "Who is it?"

The door in the ivied wall had been pushed gently open and a woman had
entered. She had come in with the last line of their song and she had
stood still listening and looking at them. With the ivy behind her, the
sunlight drifting through the trees and dappling