on with my picture.'

'On Sunday?' said the child in a shocked voice; 'it's on Sunday father
preaches, and you couldn't paint on Sunday, could you?'

'Well, I'll see,' I said; 'perhaps I'll come and hear you sing, little
Jack.'

'Thank you, big Jack,' he said, with a merry twinkle in his pretty blue
eyes.

'What is this preaching on the shore, Duncan?' I asked.

'Oh, it's our lay preacher,' he said; 'he's a good man, and has done a
sight of good in this place. You see, it's too far for folks here to go
to church, and so he lives amongst us, and has meetings in the hall
yonder in winter, and in summer, why, we have 'em on the shore, and the
visitors comes mostly. There's a few won't come, but we get the best of
them, and we have some fine singing--real nice it is! I'm in the choir
myself, sir,' he said; 'you wouldn't think it, but I am. I've got a good
strong voice, too!'

It must be a choir worth seeing, I thought, if it contained two such
strange contrasts, the big burly fisherman and the tiny child who had
invited me to be present.

I had not quite made up my mind to go. I had not been to a service for
many months, I might almost say years. I had slipped out of it lately,
and I thought I should feel myself a fish out of water. However, when
the next day came, every one seemed to take it as a matter of course