"And you can say it when you're out under the railway-bridge, can't you?" asked Audrey. "I think so; I'll try," said the old man humbly. "Oh, I'm so glad!" said little Stephen. "'I do so want you to be one of the Children of Light." CHAPTER XI The Hot Summer AFTER this Audrey and Stephen had many a talk with old Joe, in the evening, about the Kingdom of Light. He kept his promise, and said the little prayer; and Granny Robin said that she felt sure that it was being answered—he was so humble, so sorry for his sinful life, so anxious to walk as the Children of Light ought to walk. It was touching to see his love for the children. He had been so long without any one to care for him, that it was a new life to him to be amongst kind, friendly faces, and all the love of his poor old heart went out to them. As the evenings grew long and light, he followed them about the churchyard, helping them to water the graves, and to cut down the long grass at the foot of the stones. But if old Maria happened, by any chance, to come into the churchyard to show the old building to a stranger, he always hid behind a bush until she was out of sight. He seemed to fear that, by some means, she would know how often he had spent the night in the pulpit, and would speak to him about it. Stephen and Audrey were very pleased to find that old Joe had watched the swallows with as much interest as they had done. He told them that he had liked to have their company in the deserted church, and that when he woke early in the morning he had loved to hear them twittering overhead, and to watch them flying in and out of the broken pane in the east window. There were young birds in the nest now, and Audrey and Stephen spent a great part of every day in looking in through the window, and in watching the parent birds feeding them. And Granny Robin, when she heard of it, said that it reminded her of a verse in the Book of Psalms: "'The swallow hath found a nest for herself, where she may lay her young, even Thine altars, O Lord of hosts, my King and my God.'" And she taught Audrey and Stephen a little hymn, which she told them to say to themselves as they peeped in at the swallows— "'Happy birds that sing and fly Round Thine altars, O most High; Happier souls that find a rest In a Heavenly Father's breast.'" That was a hot summer in the old city. The elderly people said it reminded them of the summers when they were young, which they always declared were far hotter than the summers of their old age. The city lay on a great plain, and the scorching rays of the sun seemed to strike down upon it, with nothing to break their power. The old walls helped to shut out even the faintest breath of air which might be stirring outside; and as day after day and night after night went by, and no cool refreshing showers came, the atmosphere in the narrow streets of the city became close and stifling, and it was difficult to work by day or to sleep by night.