lect Marjorie's mother.

"Yes, Elsie whoops it up not so badly, sometimes," he remarked with
brotherly candor not unmixed with pride. "I like to hear her, all
right, when she's singing an out-and-out song that's got a head and
tail to it. But when she gets on to those hee-ha, hee-ha Italian
fireworks things, away up in G, I generally cut for the barn."

"Hush!" said the minister gently. The first notes of the prelude came
floating out of the dusk, and then, soft and sweet, and uttered with a
perfect enunciation, the words:

"_Abide with me! fast falls the eventide;
The darkness deepens: Lord, with me abide!
When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, O abide with me!_"

The voice was pure and full, and as clear as a bird's; but there was
something deeper in it than mere beauty, some subtle, compelling
quality that made the tears rise unbidden, and that forced the heart to
join in the prayer it uttered.

No one moved until the last line rang out triumphantly.

"In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me!"

When she had finished, Gilbert spoke no word of admiration. It had
been so much better than he had dreamed that words seemed inadequate.

She sang again and again; now the song was gay, now grave, and she
ended with an ecstatic spring song that had in it the sparkle of the
stream, the song of the robin, and all the glorious delight of earth's
resurrection.

When she came out to them again and her audience expressed their
pleasure, Gilbert looked at her with a sharp feeling of pity. They had
enjoyed her singing, no doubt, but they had no idea how wonderful it
was. And to be able to sing like that, and not be appreciated, was
tragic.

"I suppose you are going back to Toronto to study, next autumn?" he
said, when she was seated again on the veranda steps.

"No, I think not," she said, with what seemed to him shocking
indifference. "Not for some years at least, if ever."

"Why--you--you are surely not going to give up studying music!" he
cried bluntly. "You, with a voice like that!"

His tone was unconsciously flattering. The girl smiled gratefully.
She looked at him very gravely, as though about to speak, when she
caught her brother's eye upon her, and paused with an embarrassed air.

"That's just what we're all saying to her, doctor," he said. "She
ought to go, but she won't."

"Oh, I may, some time," she said lightly, "but I have had enough
lessons for a wh