"No, you need not," returned the other, "but really--Well, there are a good many unpleasant and disheartening experiences in a clergyman's life, and I can, I hope, face and endure most of them with patience, but the musical part of my service is a never-ending source of anxiety, perplexity, and annoyance. I think," said Mr. Euston, "that I expend more nerve tissue upon that branch of my responsibilities than upon all the rest of my work. You see we can not afford to pay any of the singers, and indeed my people--some of them, at least--think fifty dollars is a great sum for poor little Miss Knapp, the organist. The rest are volunteers, or rather, I should say, have been pressed into the service. We are supposed to have two sopranos and two altos; but in effect it happens sometimes that neither of a pair will appear, each expecting the other to be on duty. The tenor, Mr. Hubber, who is an elderly man without any voice to speak of, but a very devout and faithful churchman, is to be depended upon to the extent of his abilities; but Mr. Little, the bass--well," observed Mr. Euston, "the less said about him the better." "How about the organist?" said John. "I think she does very well, doesn't she?" "Miss Knapp is the one redeeming feature," replied the rector, "but she has not much courage to interfere. Hubber is nominally the leader, but he knows little of music." Mr. Euston gave a sorry little laugh. "It's trying enough," he said, "one Sunday with another, but on Christmas and Easter, when my people make an unusual effort, and attempt the impossible, it is something deplorable." John could not forbear a little laugh. "I should think it must be pretty trying," he said. "It is simply corroding," declared Mr. Euston. They sat for a while smoking in silence, the contemplation of his woes having apparently driven other topics from the mind of the harassed clergyman. At last he said, turning to our friend: "I have heard your voice in church." "Yes?" "And I noticed that you sang not only the hymns but the chants, and in a way to suggest the idea that you have had experience and training. I did not come here for the purpose," said Mr. Euston, after waiting a moment for John to speak, "though I confess the idea has occurred to me before, but it was suggested again by the sight of your piano and music. I know that it is asking a great deal," he continued, "but do you think you could undertake, for a while at least, to help such a lame dog as I am over the stile? You have no idea," said the rector earnestly, "what a service you would be doing not only to me, but to my people and the church." John pulled thoughtfully at his mustache for a moment, while Mr. Euston watched his face. "I don't know," he said at last in a doubtful tone. "I am afraid you are taking too much for granted--I don't mean as to my good will, but as to my ability to be of service, for I suppose you mean that I should help in drilling your choir."