"We've been a singing" interposed Grandma Keeler in a voice that contrasted with Emily's, like the flow of a great calm river with the impatient fall of a cataract. "It seems a' most as though I'd been in Heaven. They was jest a singin'--'The Light of the World is Jesus,' I shall never forgit, when I was down to camp-meetin' to Marthy's Vin'yard a good while ago--there was a little blind boy stood up on a bench and sung it all alone; and it made me cry to see him standin' there with his poor little white face, and eyes that couldn't see a' one of all the faces lookin' up to him, a singin' that out as bold and free, and he did pronounce the words so beautiful so as everybody could hear--I can hear him a singin' of it out, now--'The Light of the World is Jesus.' And I suppose we git to thinkin' that the light's in our eyes, maybe, or the light's in the sun, or the light's in the lamp, maybe. But you might put out my eyes,"--said Grandma Keeler, closing her eyes as she spoke, and looking very peaceful and happy--"and you might put out the sun, and you might put out the lamp, and say--'Thar', Almiry's all in the dark room, she can't see nothin' now'--but the Light of the World 'ud be thar jest the same, you couldn't put out the light--'The Light of the World is Jesus.'" "Oh, I didn't know ye was havin' a meetin'," said Emily Gaskell, mockingly. "No more we ain't, Emily," said Grandma Keeler. "We was jest cheerin' ourselves up a little, singin' about home. Come you, now, and sing with us": "We're goin' home, No more to roam." With eyes still closed, with head thrown back, and a heavenly serene expression on her face, Grandma began the refrain, while Madeline struck the chords on the melodeon, and the singers took up the words with a hearty cheer:-- "We're goin' home, No more to roam, No more to sin and sorrow; No more to wear The brow of care, We're goin' home to-morrow." Then the chorus, "We're going home," joyfully repeated, died away at last, more plaintively, "We're going home to-morrow." "Wall, I'm goin' home to-night," said Emily, and, as I looked up at her, I caught the same mischievous gleam in her unsoftened eyes. "So strike up Something lively now, and I'll waltz down the lane to it. 'Are your windows open towards Jerusalem?'--Lord, can't you think o' something warmer than that for this weather?" But the singers were going on gloriously: "Are your windows open towards Jerusalem? Though as captives here a little while we stay For the coming of the King in His glory, Are you watching, day by day?" Emily tightened the shawl around her neck with a quick motion. In going out, she took an indirect course through the room, purposely to pass by where I was sitting.