A chorus of voices cried out: "Sing on, stranger, we like that."

I sung on, and as the next verse was finished, the blasphemer turned
his face away, and I saw nothing of him after that but the back of his
head, and that was the handsomest part of him. He left the train soon
after, and I am glad to say I've never seen him since. Song after song
followed, and I soon had other voices to help me. When the song
service ended, an old man came to me, put out his hand, and said, "Sir,
I owe you thanks and a confession."

"Thanks for what?"

"Thanks for rebuking that blasphemer."

"Don't thank me for that, but give thanks to my Master. I try to stand
up for Him wherever I am. What about the confession?"

"I am in my eighty-third year. I have been a preacher of the Gospel
for over sixty years. When I heard that man swearing so, I wanted to
rebuke him. I rose from my seat two or three times, to do so, but my
courage failed. I have not much longer to live, but never again will I
refuse to show my colors anywhere."




HER DANGER SIGNAL.

BY EMMA C. HEWITT.