"Oh no!" I answered. "Some of the big boys have gone into
business in the cities around, and some of the girls are married.

Mother says she has only to show her girls in the cities to have
them snapped up like hot cakes."

"I fancy that is the truth," he said. "I've passed the one who
rides the little black pony and she is a picture. A fine,
healthy, sensible-appearing young woman!"

"I don't think she's as pretty as your girl," I said.

"Perhaps I don't either," he replied, smiling at me.

Then he mounted his horse.

"I don't remember that I ever have passed that house," he said,
"without hearing some one singing. Does it go on all the time?"

"Yes, unless mother is sick."

"And what is it all about?"

"Oh just joy! Gladness that we are alive, that we have things to
do that we like, and praising the Lord."

"Umph!" said Mr. Pryor.

"It's just letting out what our hearts are full of," I told him.
"Don't you know that song: