ndidly at his side, the leader
closed his book. He flung it upon the seat, tore off his glasses,
clasped his hands behind him, and let himself go. And with a mighty
roar he swept congregation, choir, organ, everybody, up into a thunder
of praise.

"_Hallelujah, Hallelujah. Amen, Amen._"

It might not have been considered finished by a musical critic, it may
have lacked restraint and nicety of shading; but no one who heard the
Algonquin congregation that morning singing "Ye Gates lift up your
heads," led by Lawyer Edward Brians, could doubt that it was surely
some such fine fresh rapture that rang through the aisles of Heaven on
that creation day when the morning stars sang together and all the Sons
of God shouted for joy.

Helen Murray bowed her head for the benediction, the stinging tears
rushing to her eyes, but they were not tears of sorrow. For the moment
she had forgotten there was such a thing as pain. She had lost it as
she had been swept up to the glad peaks of song. For one trembling
moment she had caught a glimpse of a new wonder, the whole world
moving, through sorrow and pain and dull misunderstanding, surely and
swiftly up to God. And for that instant her soul had leaped forward,
too, to meet Him. She came down from the heights; no mortal could live
there, seeing things that were not lawful to utter. But from that
first Sunday in Algonquin church her outlook on her new life was
changed. She had seen the end of her rainbow. It was back of mists
and clouds and storms, but it was there! And she could never again be
quite so sad.

The congregation slowly filed put of the pews and down the aisles,
chatting in soft hushed voices, until the organist pulled out all the
stops and played a lively air, and then the conversation rose to suit
the accompaniment. Mr. McPherson had objected to the pipe-organ, to
the hired organist from the city, and finally and most vigorously to
the musical dispersion of the congregation. If the body must play for
the church service, Jock conceded, well, he must; but why he must paw
and trample and harry the noisy thing, when church was over and done
with, was a mystery that no right thinking person could solve. The
organist, when approached with the elder's objections, had answered
with dignity that all the city churches did it, and Jock's case was
hopelessly lost. For when Algonquin was told that in the city they did
thus and so, then Algonquin would do that thi