was hard to separate herself from that sound and colour which was
not herself. Tears came to her eyes; she couldn't tell why, for she
wasn't sad. Oh, if she could stand there listening forever!--could
feel like this forever!

The choir was practising for a funeral that afternoon, but Melissa
didn't know that. She had never attended a funeral. She didn't even
know it was a funeral song. She only knew that when, at last, they
stopped singing and filed out of the choir-room, she could hardly
bear to have them go. She wished she might follow them, might tuck
herself away in the auditorium somewhere and stay for the church
service. But her mother didn't allow her to do that. Mother insisted
that church service and Sunday-school, combined, were too much for a
little girl, and would give her headaches.

So there was nothing for Missy to do but go home. The sun shone just
as brightly as on her hither journey but now she had no impulse to
skip. She walked along sedately, in rhythm to inner, long-drawn
cadences. The cadences permeated her--were herself. She was sad, yet
pleasantly, thrillingly so. It was divine. When she reached home,
she went into the empty front-parlour and hunted out the big, cloth-
covered hymnal that was there. She found "Asleep in Jesus" and
played it over and over on the piano. The bass was a trifle
difficult, but that didn't matter. Then she found other hymns which
were in accord with her mood: "Abide with Me"; "Nearer My God to
Thee"; "One Sweetly Solemn Thought." The last was sublimely
beautiful; it almost stole her favour away from "Asleep in Jesus."
Not quite, though.

She was re-playing her first favourite when the folks all came in