stly different from the glossy blue he had so much admired at an
earlier period of the day. Was ever man more disappointed? Who was she,
the old witch, for so he mentally termed the inoffensive woman devoutly
conning her prayer book, unconscious of the wrath her presence was
exciting in the bosom of the young man beside her! How he wished he had
stayed at home, and were it not that he sat so far distant from the
door, he would certainly have left in disgust. What a drawling tone was
Mr. Howard's.

Such were the doctor's thoughts. But hark! Whose voice was that? The
congregation seemed to hold their breath as the glorious singer warbled
forth the bird-like strain, "Thou that takest away the sins of the
world." She sang those words as if she felt them every one, and Dr.
Richards' heart thrilled with an indefinable emotion us he listened.
"Thou that sittest on the right hand of God the Father;" how rich and
full her voice as she sang that alone; and when the final Amen was
reached, and the grand old chant was ended, Dr. Richards sat like one
entranced, straining his ear to catch the last faint echo of the
sweetest music he had ever heard.

Could Alice sing like that, and who was this nightingale? How he wished
he knew; and when next the people arose, obedient to the organ's call,
he was of their number, and turning full about, looked up into the
gallery, starting as he looked, and half uttering an exclamation of
surprise. There was no mistaking the Russian sable fur, the wide blue
ribbons thrown so gracefully back, the wealth of sunny hair, or the
lustrous eyes, which swept for an instant over the congregation below,
taking in him with the rest, and then were dropped upon the keys, where
the snowy, ungloved hands were straying. The organist was Alice Johnson!
There were no more regrets now that he had come to church, no more
longings to be away, no more maledictions against Mr. Howard's drawling
manner, no more invectives against the poor old woman, listening like
himself with rapt attention, and wondering if the music of heaven could
be sweeter than that her bonny Alice made. The doctor, too, felt better
for such music, and he never remembered having been more attentive to a
sermon in his life than to the one, which followed the evening service.

When it was ended, and the people dismissed, she came tripping down the
stairs, flooding the dingy vestibule with a world of sunshine.

"Here, Aunt Densie, here I am. Martin i