his errand, he scrambled through the fence and up
the gently rising knoll. His bare feet made no noise as he tiptoed up
the steps and stood peering through the open door. It was dim and cool
inside, with only the light that could sift through the violet and amber
of the stained glass windows; but in one, the big one at the end, was
the figure of a snowy dove, with outstretched wings. Through this
silvery pane a long slanting ray of light, dazzling in its white
radiance, streamed across the keys of the organ and the man who played
them,--the Reverend George.

It threw a strange light on the upturned face,--a face black as ebony,
worn with suffering, but showing in every feature the refining touch of
a noble spirit. His mournful eyes seemed looking into another world,
while his fingers wandered over the keys with the musical instinct of
his race.

John Jay slipped inside and crouched down behind a tall pew. The only
music that he had been accustomed to was the kind that Uncle Billy
scraped from his fiddle and plunked on his banjo. It was the gay,
rollicking kind, that put his feet to jigging and every muscle in his
body quivering in time. This made him want to cry; yet it was so sweet
and deep and tender as it went rolling softly down the aisles, that he
forgot all about the eggs and Miss Hallie. He forgot that he was John
Jay. All he thought of was that upturned face with the strange unearthly
light in its dark eyes, and the melody that swept over him.

A spell of coughing seized the rapt musician. After it had passed, he
lay forward on the organ a while, with his head bowed on his arms. Then
he straightened himself up wearily, and began pushing the stops back
into their places.

The silence brought John Jay to his senses. He crawled along the aisle
and out of the door, blinkling like an owl as he came into the blinding
sunshine. Many experiences had convinced him that he was born under an
unlucky star. When he went leaping down the hill to the log where he had
left his basket, it was with the sickening certainty that some evil had
befallen the eggs. He was afraid to look for fear of finding a mass of
broken shells strewn over the ground. It was with a feeling of surprise
that he saw the white ends of the top layer of eggs peeping out of their
bed of bran, just as he had left them. With a sigh of relief he picked
up the basket; then whistling gaily as a mockingbird, he set out once
more in the direction of Rosehaven