er!--How wonderful! What was the
house of the Lord?... Missy leaned back in the summerhouse seat, and
gazed dreamily out at the silver-white clouds drifting lazily across the
sky; in the side-yard her nasturtium bed glowed up from the slick green
grass like a mass of flame; a breeze stirred the flame to gentle motion
and touched the ramblers on the summerhouse, shaking out delicious
scents; distantly from the backyard came the tranquil, drowsy sounds
of unseen chickens. Missy listened to the chickens; regarded sky and
flowers and green--colours so lovely as to almost hurt you--and sniffed
the fragrant air... All this must be the house of the Lord! Here, surely
goodness and mercy would follow her all the days of her life.

Thus, slowly, the marvellous new feeling stole back and took possession
of her. She could no longer bear just sitting there quiet, just feeling.
She craved some sort of expression. So she rose and moved slowly over
the slick green grass, pausing by the blazing nasturtium bed to pick
a few vivid blossoms. These she pinned to her dress; then went very
leisurely on to the house-to the parlour--to the piano--to "Asleep in
Jesus."

She played it "with expression." Her soul now seemed to be flowing out
through her fingers and to the keyboard; the music came not from the
keyboard, really, but from her soul. Rapture!

But presently her mood was rudely interrupted by mother's voice at the
door.

"Missy, Aunt Nettie's lying down with a headache. I'm afraid the piano
disturbs her."

"All right, mother."

Lingeringly Missy closed the hymnal. She couldn't forbear a little sigh.
Perhaps mother noted the sigh. Anyway, she came close and said:

"I'm sorry, dear. I think it's nice the way you've learned to play
hymns."

Missy glanced up; and for a moment forgetting that grown-ups don't
always understand, she breathed:

"Oh, mother, it's HEAVENLY! You can't imagine--"

She remembered just in time, and stopped short. But mother didn't
embarrass her by asking her to explain something that couldn't be
explained in words. She only laid her hand, for a second, on the sleek
brown head. The marvellous feeling endured through the afternoon, and
through supper, and through the evening--clear up to the time Missy
undressed and said her prayers. Some special sweetness seemed to have
crept into saying prayers; our Lord Jesus seemed very personal and very
close as she whispered to Him a postlude:

"I will fear no evil