"That is the sight of a lifetime," cried Dr. Jones. "Language is utterly inadequate to describe it. With the vast, unobstructed view on all sides, far as the eye can reach, the great glistening rotund sides of the globe rolling away from beneath your feet, giving one a sensation as if about to slide off into the awful chasm below, I assure you that it is something fearful. But I cast my eye up the shining mast and saw the stars and stripes floating there so calmly and serenely, and I remembered our glorious mission, and instantly I felt the Everlasting Arms about me. I realized as never before in my life, the utter littleness of man, and the almightiness of God. Here, floating thousands of feet above the earth, we can rest just as implicitly on His promises as we ever did in our lives." These words were said by the Doctor with so much earnestness and solemnity that a hush fell upon the company for a few moments. Then Mrs. Jones sat at the organ and began singing in a low, sweet voice, Kelso Carter's splendid hymn: "Standing on the promises of Christ my King, Through eternal ages let his praises ring; Glory in the highest, I can shout and sing, Standing on the promises of God." Every one of the seven were trained vocalists, and, very happily for the pleasure of the company, the four parts were so nicely balanced that their voices blended in sweetest harmony. The Doctor and Will and Denison sang bass; Fred and Professor Gray tenor, Mattie alto, and Mrs. Jones soprano. Mattie possessed an exceedingly rich contralto, while Mrs. Jones' soprano was strong, sweet, and clear as a bird's. They all joined in the chorus, and when the hymn was finished, Ah Sing, who stood in the doorway with his white cap and apron on, encored loudly. "Velly good. Me heap likee," was his verdict. "It takes the 'Children of the Skies' to sing that hymn!" cried Denison. "Hear! Hear!" said Mrs. Jones, clapping her hands. "Isn't that poetic and appropriate? The Children of the Skies! That was an inspiration on your part, Mr. Denison."