he Canon looked round the
table at his children, and there was a humorous twinkle in his eye when
he turned to Hyacinth and quoted:

'"Your sons shall grow up as young plants, and your daughters shall be
as the polished corners of the temple."'

Perhaps nine-tenths of civilized mankind would regard five children as
five misfortunes under any circumstances, as quite overwhelming when
they have been showered on a man with a very small income, who is
obliged to live in a remote corner of Ireland. Apparently the Canon
did not look upon himself as an afflicted man at all. There was
an unmistakable sincerity about the way in which he completed his
quotation:

'"Lo! thus shall the man be blessed that feareth the Lord."'

It dawned on Hyacinth that quite possibly the Canon's view of the
situation might be the right one. It was certainly wonderfully pleasant
to see the girls move through the room, and it seemed to him that they
actually realized the almost forgotten ideal of serviceable womanhood.
The talk at dinner turned first on the ailments of an old woman who was
accustomed to clean the church, but was now suspected of being past
her work; then, by an abrupt transition, on the new hat which the
bank-manager's wife had brought home from Dublin; and, finally, the
connection of thought being again far from obvious, on the hymns which
had been sung that morning. It was at this point that Hyacinth was
included in the conversation. Marion Beecher announced that one of the
hymns was a special favourite of hers, because she remembered her mother
singing the younger children to sleep with it when they were babies. She
caught Hyacinth looking at her while she spoke, and said to him:

'Do you sing, Mr. Conneally?'

'I do a little.'

'Oh, then you must come and help us in the choir.' 'Choir' seemed a
grandiose name for the four Beechers and Mr. Quinn, but Marion, who had
little experience of anything better, had no misgivings. 'I hope you
sing tenor. I always long to have a tenor in my choir. Why, we might
have one of Barnby's anthems at Easter, and we haven't been able to sing
one since Mr. Nash left the bank.'

Hyacinth had never sung a part in his life, and could not read music,
but he grew bold, and, professing to have an excellent ear, said he
was willing to learn. The prospect of a long series of choir practices
conducted by Marion Beecher seemed to him just then an extremely
pleasant one.

After dinner, while the two