d a plate of steaming biscuits, and began to pass them
around.

"What is the matter with your hand, Tilly?" her mother asked, and John,
who was helping himself from the dish the girl was offering him, noted
that a red welt lay across the back of one of her small hands.

"I burnt it getting the biscuits out," Tilly answered, almost beneath
her breath.

"How foolish!" her mother retorted. "You are getting more and more
careless. Bring in the coffee next. I want to be pouring it out. Most
folks like to start a meal that way."

Tilly disappeared and returned with the coffee-pot. Somehow John, as he
ate his supper, found himself thinking of the painful burn on Tilly's
hand, and was oblivious of the conversation regarding religious matters
between Cavanaugh and Whaley and his wife.

"Now, come set down and eat your supper," Mrs. Whaley said to her
daughter, and Tilly took the chair she had occupied while grace was
being said. She kept her eyes downcast, and John noticed her long,
slightly curled lashes as they rested on her flushed cheeks and her
pretty, tapering hands. She said nothing during the entire meal.

When supper was over, Whaley led the two men into the parlor and lighted
an oil-lamp which stood on the mantel-piece, for it was growing dark.
They had seated themselves when Whaley rose and took a song-book from
the cottage organ and extended it to Cavanaugh.

"Have you got this new book of revival hymns down your way?" he
inquired.

"I don't think so," the contractor answered, inspecting it.

"Well, it is by all odds the best all-round collection I've ever run
across," Whaley said. "Tilly plays all of 'em pretty well, and we have a
regular song-service here whenever we feel like it. Do you sing,
Mr.--Mr. Trott?"

"No, sir," John replied. "I have no turn that way."

"Well, maybe you'll get the hang of it while you are here," Whaley
smiled coldly. "I don't believe there is any way in the world that a man
can get to God quicker, straighter, or closer than in sacred song. I've
seen a congregation stand out against the finest appeal ever made from
the stand, and the minute some good singer started a rousing hymn they
were all ablaze, like soldiers following fife and drum." Herewith Whaley
went to the door and called out:

"Amelia, let the dishes rest and you and Tilly come in. We want some
music."

"Good! Good!" Cavanaugh chimed in, rubbing his hands. "We are in luck,
John. If there is anything on earth I