prayer--sincere, and, I doubt not, as acceptable, because sincere, as
if it had been offered in polished language--made Mabel shake with
laughter.

He rose, and there was utter silence for a moment. Then a high, sweet
woman's voice, far in front of us, sang out, clear as a bell,--

"Sweet hour of prayer! sweet hour of prayer!
That calls me from a world of care,
And bids me at my Father's throne,
Make all my wants and wishes known."

The congregation joined in; only one verse was sung, and again the
strange, solemn silence fell upon us.

It was broken by the sudden rising of a lank, awkward boy, who uttered
a few words in a frightened nasal whine.

This time Mabel was convulsed with laughter; but the sweet singer, who
saw in this utterance only the contrite soul of the speaker, burst
forth triumphantly with--

"Oh, gift of gifts! oh, grace of faith!
My God, how can it be
That thou, who hast discerning love,
Shouldst give that gift to me?"

Only one verse, as before. Then the pure notes, high above all the
other voices, died away, and a strange-looking woman arose.