he sun, the east wind, the sea air and Singholm
have brightened and browned them.

There is my poor old friend, long past threescore and ten, to whom
Singholm for a time is verily Heaven; but--"Turn on the gramophone,
please, matron." Thanks to a kind friend, we have a really good one,
with a plentiful supply of records. The matron, in the wickedness of
her heart, turns on an orchestral "cakewalk." The band plays, old bodies
begin to move and sway, and seventy pair of feet begin unconsciously to
beat the floor. Laughter again resounds; our Quaker himself enters into
the spirit of it, so I invite him to lead off with the "Queen" for his
partner, at which he was dismayed, although he is a veritable son of
Anak.

But to my dismay the bent and feeble septuagenarian offered to lead off
with myself as partner, at which I collapsed, for alas, I cannot
dance. Then our trustee led the roars of laughter that testified to my
discomfiture.

So we had no dancing, only a cakewalk. But we had more merriment and
music, and then our little evening service. "What hymn shall we have?"
Many voices called out, "Sun of my soul," so the matron went to the
piano, and I listened while they sang "Watch by the sick, enrich the
poor," which for me, whenever the poor, the feeble and aged sing it,
has a power and a meaning that I never realise when the organ leads a
well-trained choir and a respectable church congregation to blend their
voices.

Then I read to them a few words from the old, but ever new, Book, and
closed with a few simple, well-known prayers, and then--as old Pepys has
it--"to bed."

We watch them file up the great staircase one by one, watch them
disappear into their sweet little rooms and clean sheets. To me, at any
rate, the picture was more comforting and suggestive than Burne Jones's
"Golden Stairs." In fifteen minutes the electric light was switched off,
and Singholm was in darkness and in peace. But outside the stars were
shining, the flowers still blooming, the garden was full of the mystery
of sweet odours; close by the sea was singing its soothing lullaby, and
God was over all!

But let us get back to the underworld!

"How long have we lived together, did you ask? well, ever since we were
born, and she is sixty-seven," pointing to a paralysed woman, who was
sitting in front of the window. "I am two years younger," she continued,
"and we have never been separated; we have lived together, worked
together, and slept