ell together at the end of the
first line, and when, as now, the choir numbered a goodly number of
voices, and there were three or four hundred in the pews, nothing more
inspiring in its peculiar way was ever heard, than the congregational
singing of such splendid hymns as "Old Hundred," "Duke Street," or
"Coronation."

Waitstill led the trebles, and Ivory was at the far end of the choir in
the basses, but each was conscious of the other's presence. This morning
he could hear her noble voice rising a little above, or, perhaps from
its quality, separating itself somehow, ever so little, from the others.
How full of strength and hope it was, her voice! How steadfast to the
pitch; how golden its color; how moving in its crescendos! How the words
flowed from her lips; not as if they had been written years ago, but
as if they were the expression of her own faith. There were many in the
congregation who were stirred, they knew not why, when there chanced to
be only a few "carrying the air" and they could really hear Waitstill
Baxter singing some dear old hymn, full of sacred memories, like:--

"While Thee I seek, protecting Power,
Be my vain wishes stilled!
And may this consecrated hour
With better hopes be filled."

"There may be them in Boston that can sing louder, and they may be able
to run up a little higher than Waitstill, but the question is, could any
of 'em make Aunt Abby Cole shed tears?" This was Jed Morrill's tribute
to his best soprano.

There were Sunday evening prayer-meetings, too, held at "early
candlelight," when Waitstill and Lucy Morrill would make a duet of "By
cool Siloam's Shady Rill," or the favorite "Naomi," and the two fresh
young voices, rising and falling in the tender thirds of the old tunes,
melted all hearts to new willingness of sacrifice.

"Father, whate'er of earthly bliss
Thy sov'reign will denies,
Accepted at Thy Throne of grace
Let this petition rise!

"Give me a calm, a thankful heart,
From every murmur free!
The blessing of Thy grace impart
And let me live to Thee!"

How Ivory loved to hear Waitstill sing these lines! How they eased his
burden as they were easing hers, falling on his impatient, longing heart
like evening dew on thirsty grass!

XII. THE GREEN-EYED MONSTER

"WHILE Thee I seek, protecting Power," was the first hymn on this
particular Sunday morning, and it usually held Patty's rather vagrant
attention to