uction, he could join in the bass, and had made, also, the further
discovery that his voice, which he had thought rough and coarse, and for
a year past, worse than ever, could reach to extraordinary depths. One
Sabbath evening, it chanced that John "Aleck," who always had an ear
open for a good voice, heard him rolling out his deep bass, and seizing
him on the spot, had made him promise to join the singing school. There
he discovered a talent and developed a taste for singing that delighted
his leader's heart, and opened out to himself a new world. The piano,
too, was a new and rare treat to Ranald. In all the country there was no
other, and even in the manse it was seldom heard, for Mrs. Murray found
little time, amid the multitude of household and congregational duties,
to keep up her piano practice. That part of her life, with others of
like kind, she had been forced to lose.

But since Maimie's coming, the piano had been in daily use, and even on
the Sabbath days, though not without danger to the sensibilities of the
neighbors, she had used it to accompany the hymns with which the day
always closed.

"Let us have the parts," cried Hughie. "Maimie and I will take the air,
and Ranald will take the bass. Cousin Harry, can you sing?"

"Oh, I'll hum."

"Nonsense," said Maimie, "he sings tenor splendidly."

"Oh, that's fine!" cried Hughie, with delight. He himself was full of
music. "Come on, Ranald, you stand up behind Maimie, you will need to
see the notes; and I will sit here," planting himself beside his mother.

So Hughie arranged it all, and for an hour the singing went on, the
favorite hymns of each being sung in turn. For the most part, Mrs.
Murray sat silent, but now and then she would join with the others,
singing alto when she did so, by Hughie's special direction. Her voice
was not strong, but it was true, mellow, and full of music. Hughie loved
to hear her sing alto, and more especially because he liked to join in
with her, which he was too shy to do alone, even in his home, and which
he would never think of doing in the Bible class, or in the presence of
any of the boys who might, for this reason, think him "proud." When they
came to Hughie's turn, he chose the hymn by Bliss, recently published,
"Whosoever will," the words seem to strike him tonight.

"Mother," he said, after singing it through, "does that mean everybody
that likes?"

"Yes, my dear, any one that wishes."

"Pharaoh, mother?"

"Yes