he carries; I s'pose he'd 'a' handed that over too, only
heathens always tell time by the sun 'n' don't need watches. Eudoxy
ain't comin'; now for massy's sake, Rebecca, do git ahead of Mis'
Deacon Milliken and pitch real low."

The meeting began with prayer and then the Rev. Mr. Burch announced, to
the tune of Mendon:--

"Church of our God I arise and shine,
Bright with the beams of truth divine:
Then shall thy radiance stream afar,
Wide as the heathen nations are.

"Gentiles and kings thy light shall view,
And shall admire and love thee too;
They come, like clouds across the sky,
As doves that to their windows fly."

"Is there any one present who will assist us at the instrument?" he
asked unexpectedly.

Everybody looked at everybody else, and nobody moved; then there came a
voice out of a far corner saying informally, "Rebecca, why don't you?"
It was Mrs. Cobb. Rebecca could have played Mendon in the dark, so she
went to the melodeon and did so without any ado, no member of her
family being present to give her self-consciousness.

The talk that ensued was much the usual sort of thing. Mr. Burch made
impassioned appeals for the spreading of the gospel, and added his
entreaties that all who were prevented from visiting in person the
peoples who sat in darkness should contribute liberally to the support
of others who could. But he did more than this. He was a pleasant,
earnest speaker, and he interwove his discourse with stories of life in
a foreign land,--of the manners, the customs, the speech, the point of
view; even giving glimpses of the daily round, the common task, of his
own household, the work of his devoted helpmate and their little group
of children, all born under Syrian skies.

Rebecca sat entranced, having been given the key of another world.
Riverboro had faded; the Sunday-school room, with Mrs. Robinson's red
plaid shawl, and Deacon Milliken's wig, on crooked, the bare benches
and torn hymn-books, the hanging texts and maps, were no longer
visible, and she saw blue skies and burning stars, white turbans and
gay colors; Mr. Burch had not said so, but perhaps there were mosques
and temples and minarets and date-palms. What stories they must know,
those children born under Syrian skies! Then she was called upon to
play "Jesus shall reign where'er the sun."

The contribution box was passed and Mr. Burch prayed. As he opened his
eyes and gave out the last hymn he looked at the han