"I like it awful much! De first part, she has Mutter in it; und--und also Jerusalem." Sue kissed him. "And the second verse Momsey likes---- _'O happy harbor of God's Saints! O sweet and pleasant soil! In Thee no sorrow can be found, Nor grief, nor care, nor toil!'_" "It's grand!" sighed Ikey. "You ask the choirmaster if you may sing it. And if he lets you----" "Goot!" He started away bravely enough. But the Church door reached, he turned and came slowly back. "Momsey," he faltered, "I don't remember my mutter. Vould you, now, mind if--just vonce before you go--if I called _you_--mutter?" She put out her arms to him. "Oh, my son! My son!" With a cry, he flung himself into her embrace, weeping. "Oh, mutter! Mutter! Mutter!" "Remember that mother loves you." "Oh, my mutter," he answered, "Gott take fine care of you!" "And God take care of my boy." He sobbed, and she held him close, brushing at the tousled head. While Balcome paced to and fro on the lawn, and coughed suspiciously, and blinked at the sun. "Say, I've got an idea," he announced. "Listen, young man! Come here." Gently Sue unclasped the hands that clung about her neck, and turned the tear-stained face to Balcome. "Up in Buffalo, in my business, I need a boy who knows how to keep his mouth shut. Now when do you escape from this--this asylum?" He swept his hat in a wide circle that included the Rectory. Pride made Ikey forget his woe. "Oh," he boasted, "I can go venefer I like. You see, my aunt, she only borrows me here." "Ah! And what do you think of my proposition?" Ikey meditated. "Vell, I ain't crazy to stay here mit Momsey gone." Balcome put a hand on his shoulder. "I thought you wouldn't. So suppose we talk this over--eh?--man to man--while we hunt the choirmaster?" CHAPTER XII When they were gone, Sue looked down at the check in her hand. Yesterday, in the heat of a just resentment, she had boasted a new freedom. What had come of it was twelve hours without the presence of her mother--twelve hours shared with Hattie and Farvel. They had been happy hours, for strangely enough Hattie had needed little cheering. It was Farvel who easily accomplished wonders with her. Sue did not know what passed between the clergyman and the bride-who-was-not-to-be during a long conference in the library. She had heard only the low murmur of their voices. And once she had heard Hattie laugh. When the two finally emerged, it was plain that Hattie had been weeping, and Farvel was noticeably kind to her, even tender. At dinner he was unwontedly cheerful, relieved at the whole solving of the old, sad mystery, though worried not a little by Clare's disappearance. After dinner he had taken himself out and away in a futile search that had lasted the whole night.