Extolled with the harp and the timbrel should be.'

"Sing without reading, if you please, omitting the second stanza.
Hymn two seventy four, to be found on the sixty-sixth page of the
new hymn book or on page thirty two of Emma Jane Perkins's old
one."

II

It is doubtful if the Rev. Mr. Burch had ever found in Syria a
person more difficult to persuade than the already
"gospel-hardened" Jacob Moody of Riverboro.

Tall, gaunt, swarthy, black-bearded--his masses of grizzled,
uncombed hair and the red scar across his nose and cheek added to
his sinister appearance. His tumble-down house stood on a rocky
bit of land back of the Sawyer pasture, and the acres of his farm
stretched out on all sides of it. He lived alone, ate alone,
plowed, planted, sowed, harvested alone, and was more than
willing to die alone, "unwept, unhonored, and unsung." The road
that bordered upon his fields was comparatively little used by
any one, and notwithstanding the fact that it was thickly set
with chokecherry trees and blackberry bushes it had been for
years practically deserted by the children. Jacob's Red
Astrakhan and Granny Garland trees hung thick with apples, but no
Riverboro or Edgewood boy stole them; for terrifying accounts of
the fate that had overtaken one urchin in times agone had been
handed along from boy to boy, protecting the Moody fruit far
better than any police patrol.