the greatest idiot, you or Aunty Nan!"

As Mrs. William flounced out of the kitchen, Jordan took his
satisfaction in a quiet laugh.

Up-stairs in the little room was a great glory of sunset and gladness
of human hearts. Joscelyn was kneeling by the bed, with her arms about
Aunty Nan; and Aunty Nan, with her face all irradiated, was stroking
Joscelyn's dark hair fondly.

"O, little Joscelyn," she murmured, "it seems too good to be true. It
seems like a beautiful dream. I knew you the minute you opened the door,
my dearie. You haven't changed a bit. And you're a famous singer now,
little Joscelyn! I always knew you would be. Oh, I want you to sing a
piece for me--just one, won't you, dearie? Sing that piece people like
to hear you sing best. I forget the name, but I've read about it in the
papers. Sing it for me, little Joscelyn."

And Joscelyn, standing by Aunty Nan's bed, in the sunset light, sang
the song she had sung to many a brilliant audience on many a noted
concert-platform--sang it as even she had never sung before, while Aunty
Nan lay and listened beatifically, and downstairs even Mrs. William held
her breath, entranced by the exquisite melody that floated through the
old farmhouse.

"O, little Joscelyn!" breathed Aunty Nan in rapture, when the song
ended.

Joscelyn knelt by her again and they had a long talk of old days. One by
one they recalled the memories of that vanished summer. The past gave up
its tears and its laughter. Heart and fancy alike went roaming through
the ways of the long ago. Aunty Nan was perfectly happy. And then
Joscelyn told her all the story of her struggles and triumphs since they
had parted.

When the moonlight began to creep in through the low window, Aunty Nan
put out her hand and touched Joscelyn's bowed head.

"Little Joscelyn," she whispered, "if it ain't asking too much, I want
you to sing just one other piece. Do you remember when you were here how
we sung hymns in the parlour every Sunday night, and my favourite always
was 'The Sands of Time are Sinking?' I ain't never forgot how you used
to sing that, and I want to hear it just once again, dearie. Sing it for
me, little Joscelyn."

Joscelyn rose and went to the window. Lifting back the curtain, she
stood in the splendour of the moonlight, and sang the grand old hymn.
At first Aunty Nan beat time to it feebly on the counterpane; but when
Joscelyn came to the verse, "With mercy and with judgment," she folded
her hand