oubt. His face showed it.

"Do you think I can't make it?"

Doubt vanished on swift wings. "I think nothing of the sort. And you
mustn't think of it, either. You must believe you can. It is half the
battle. Hear me preach!" he laughed.

"That's what he--Mr. Radbourne--said."

"He was right, as always. This is very exciting. Do you know, I've a
feeling you're going to knock 'em galley-west. And that," he nodded
gaily down at her, "and that would be the finest thing that could
happen."

"You forget your church," she smiled back.

"So I did! But now I remember it, I have nothing whatever to take
back."

The witch chuckled as only witches can and sent her broomstick steed
prancing madly across the sky. . . .

He saw Esther and her aunt away that Sabbath afternoon with a jest--an
extravagant salute and an "Up, lass, an' at 'em!" to which she made
answer with a determined smile. When they had been perhaps five
minutes gone, he put on his hat and followed.

He found a seat in the rear of the church and waited, nerves strung
taut as if the ordeal were his, wishing the services would begin and
yet dreading it. His eyes swept the gathering worshipers idly until
they happened upon a familiar face across the church, a homely face set
sternly rigid toward the choir loft.

"He would be here, of course," David mused. "In a way, if ever she
makes good, her success will be his. It will be because he has given
it to her."

A nameless little regret followed that. But before he could give it a
name the organ burst into the prelude and the choir filed into the loft.

In the first anthem her voice was heard only with the others. The
second was a trio in which she did not sing. The offertory solo was
hers.

So, while the organ softly played the theme, she rose and faced her
ordeal. The late afternoon sun was streaming through the tall west
window. One amber shaft reached out and enfolded her caressingly,
vivifying the white girlish face: a picture he has to this day.

"By the waters of Babylon. . . ."

For a breath fear clutched at his heart. In those first few notes was
a weak quaver, a huskiness that ought not to have been there. His
whole body grew tense with effort as mind and heart sent winging to her
a silent message. "You must not fear! You must believe!" Another was
sending her the same word. But David had forgotten him.

One of those messages must have reached its mark, for of a sudde