e mother
told Tiny of this bit of a conversation, but of course she could not
explain about the dream. She knew no more what the boy's father had
dreamed than you or I do, only she knew it was something curious and
fanciful about the Beautiful Gate.

Tiny listened with great interest to his mother's words, and he smiled
as he kissed her when she had done speaking; and he said, "Wait till
this evening, mother dear, and you shall see."

And so she waited till the evening.

When they were gathered around the kitchen-fire at night, Tiny took down
the harp that hung on the kitchen wall.

It had hung there ever since the day that Tiny was born. A poor old
pilgrim gave it on that very day to Josiah in exchange for a loaf of
bread. By that I do not mean that Josiah sold the loaf to the poor old
hungry pilgrim. Josiah was too charitable to make a trade with a
beggar. But the stranger said this strange thing to Josiah:--"I am near
to death--I shall sing no more--I am going home. Keep my harp for me
until a singer asks you for it, and promises you that he will sing unto
the Lord a New Song. Give it to _him_; but be sure before you do so
that he is worthy to sing the song unto the Lord."

So Josiah had taken the harp home with him, and hung it on the wall, as
I said, on the day that Tiny was born. And he waited for the coming of
the poet who should have that wondrous song to sing.

The father, when he saw what it was the boy would do, made a little move
as if he would prevent him; but the mother playfully caught the old
man's hand, and held it in hers, while she said aloud, "Only one song,
Tiny. Your father's rest was disturbed last night--so get through with
it as quickly as you can."

At these last words the old man looked well pleased, for he fancied that
his wife agreed with him, because he would not yet allow himself to
believe that it was for his boy Tiny that the old pilgrim left the harp.

And yet never was a sweeter voice than that of the young singer--old
Josiah acknowledged that to himself, and old Josiah knew--he was a judge
of such things, for all his life he had been singing songs in his heart.

Yes! though you would never have imagined such a thing, that is, if you
are in the habit of judging folks from their outward appearance--he had
such a rough, wrinkled face, brown with freckles and tan, such coarse,
shaggy grey hair, and such a short, crooked, awkward figure, you never
would have guessed what