uences. Miss Dobb told him that Paul ought to be pitched out of
the choir. "I think so too, Miss Dobb," said the Deacon, and it was
done.

It required a great bracing of Paul's nerves, on Sunday morning, to go
to church, and take a seat in the pew down stairs, with every eye upon
him; but he did it manfully.

The bell ceased tolling. It was time for services to commence, but there
was no choir. The singers' seats were empty. Azalia, Daphne, Hans, and
all the others, were down stairs. Mr. Surplice waited awhile, then read
the hymn; but there was a dead silence,--no turning of leaves, no
blending of sweet voices, no soul-thrilling strains, such as had
reformed Farmer Harrow, and given rest to his horses one day in seven.
People looked at the singers' seats, then at Paul, then at each other.
The silence became awkward. Deacon Hardhack was much exercised in mind.
He had been very zealous in committee meeting for having Paul sent down
stairs, but he had not looked forward to see what effect it would have
upon the choir. Mr. Cannel, who owned a coal-mine, sat in front of Paul.
He was not on good terms with Deacon Hardhack, for they once had a
falling out on business matters, and so whatever the Deacon attempted
to do in society affairs was opposed by Mr. Cannel. They were both
members of the singing committee, and had a stormy time on Saturday
evening. Mr. Cannel did what he could to keep Paul in the choir, but the
Deacon had carried the day.

"I'll triumph yet," was the thought which flashed through Mr. Cannel's
mind, when he saw how matters stood. He turned and nodded to Paul to
strike up a tune, but Paul took no notice of him. Mr. Cannel half rose
from his seat, and whispered hoarsely, "Strike up a tune, Paul." All the
congregation saw him. Paul made no movement, but sat perfectly still,
not even looking towards Mr. Cannel. Deacon Hardhack saw what Mr. Cannel
was up to, and resolved to head him off. He rose from his seat, and said
aloud, "Brother Quaver, will you pitch a tune?"

Again, as in other days, Mr. Quaver rubbed his great red nose, as
trumpeters wipe their instruments before giving a blast. Then, after a
loud Ahem! which made the church ring, he began to sing. It was so
strange a sound, so queer, so unlike the sweet music which had charmed
the congregation through the summer, that there was smiling all over
the church. His voice trembled and rattled, and sounded so funny that a
little boy laughed aloud, which