singing was confined to the thin
nasal unison psalmody of our school children, and an occasional rustic
stave from a farmer at an agricultural dinner. Great, then, was my
astonishment when the little group broke into the four-part harmony of
a fine chorale. One rarely hears such voices. Betty had a grand
soprano, and on the edge of the group stood a little lad singing like
a bird, in an alto of such sweet pathos as would have made him famous
in any cathedral choir.

Mr. Jonathan's head drooped lower and lower. Affecting as the hymn was
in my ears, it had for him, no doubt, associations I could not share.
My father moved near him, with an impulse of respectful sympathy.

To me that one rich voice of harmony spoke as the voice of my old
teacher; and I longed to cry to him in return, "I have made up my
mind. It _is_ worth trying for! It is 'worth any effort, any
struggle.' Our eternal home!"

CHAPTER XXVII

THE NEW RECTOR--AUNT MARIA TRIES TO FIND HIM A WIFE--MY FATHER HAS A
SIMILAR CARE FOR ME

The stone that marks the burying-place of the Andrewes family taught
me the secret of the special love the Rector bore me. It recorded the
deaths of his wife Margaret, and of his son Reginald. The child was
born in the same year as myself.

Mr. Jonathan Andrewes came to Dacrefield on business connected with
his brother's affairs, and he accepted my father's hospitality at the
Hall. We seldom met afterwards, and were never intimate; but, slight
as it was, our tie was that of friendship rather than acquaintance.

The next presentation to the Rectory of Dacrefield was in my father's
gift. He held it alternately with the Bishop, to whom he owed Mr.
Andrewes. He gave it to my old tutor.

Mr. Clerke's appointment had the rare merit of pleasing everybody.
After he had been settled with us for some weeks, my father said,

"Mr. Clerke is good enough to be grateful to me for presenting him to
the living, but I do not know how to be grateful enough to him for
accepting it. I really cannot think how I should have endured to see
Andrewes' place filled by some new broom sweeping away every trace of
our dear friend and his ways. Clerke's good taste in the matter is
most delicate, most admirable, and very pleasant to my feelings."

The truth is there was not a truer mourner for the old Rector than the
new one. "I so little thought I should never see him again," he cried
to me. "I have often felt I did not half avail myself of t