'Onward, Christian soldiers!' in notes of rigid cheerfulness.

In this start, however, he was joined only by the girls and boys,
the men furnishing but an accompaniment of ahas and hems. Mr.
Torkingham stopped, and Sammy Blore spoke,--

'Beg your pardon, sir,--if you'll deal mild with us a moment. What
with the wind and walking, my throat's as rough as a grater; and not
knowing you were going to hit up that minute, I hadn't hawked, and I
don't think Hezzy and Nat had, either,--had ye, souls?'

'I hadn't got thorough ready, that's true,' said Hezekiah.

'Quite right of you, then, to speak,' said Mr. Torkingham. 'Don't
mind explaining; we are here for practice. Now clear your throats,
then, and at it again.'

There was a noise as of atmospheric hoes and scrapers, and the bass
contingent at last got under way with a time of its own:

'Honwerd, Christen sojers!'

'Ah, that's where we are so defective--the pronunciation,'
interrupted the parson. 'Now repeat after me: "On-ward, Christ-
ian, sol-diers."'

The choir repeated like an exaggerative echo: 'On-wed, Chris-ting,
sol-jaws!'

'Better!' said the parson, in the strenuously sanguine tones of a