Professor Hedden, half turning on his seat, said: “While this next is hardly what I would call a complete composition, it may give you an idea of the capabilities of the organ.” When he ceased playing he said: “It is merely an exercise in technique, but I think it shows fairly well what can be done with a good organ.” It may have been merely an exercise, but it had made the organ perform as no one in that church, aside from Professor Hedden himself, had ever heard an organ perform. The full majesty and beauty of the great instrument, unguessed by those who had gathered to hear this first test, stood revealed. David Dean's heart was full. It seemed to him as if the organ, capable of speaking in such a manner, must be a mighty force to aid him in his ministerial work; as if the organ were a living thing. Such music must grasp souls and raise them far toward Heaven. Professor Hedden arose and approached the steps leading down from the organ. In the pew in front of David old Sam Wiggett, donor of the organ, sat in his greatcoat, his iron gray hair mussed as always. David could imagine the firm-set mouth, the heavy jowls, the bushy eyebrows, the scowl that seldom left the old man's face. Lucille Hardcome whispered to him and he nodded. “Now let's hear Miss Hurley play something,” said Lucille in her sweetest voice. “Oh!” exclaimed Miss Hurley, cowering into her corner. “Not now, please! Not after that!” Lucille laughed. Old Sam Wiggett sat as before, his head half hidden by his coat collar, but David knew the grim look that was on the old man's face. Wiggett's word would settle the organist matter when that grim old man chose to speak. David turned toward Miss Hurley, and she shook her head. He did his best to smother her refusal by advancing to the professor with congratulatory hand extended. In a moment the dozen fortunate listeners were crowded around Professor Hedden, and Miss Hurley, in her pew end, was forgotten. As 'Thusia, David and Miss Jane were leaving the church Lucille, jingling with jewelry, swooped down upon them. “Oh, Miss Hurley!” she called. “Just one minute, please!” Miss Jane stopped and turned. “Professor Hedden thinks,” Lucille cooed, “or, really, I'm not sure which of us thought of it, but we quite agree, that you must play at least once to-morrow morning! To christen _your_ organ with you taking no part would be quite too shameful. So”--she hesitated and her smile was wicked--“so we want you to play the congregation out after the professor is through. You know they will never leave while he is playing.” The taunt was cruel and plain enough--that the congregation _would_ leave if Miss Jane played--and Miss Jane reddened. Professor Hedden, with Sam Wiggett, came up to them. “Of course you must play!” he said through his beard, in his gruff, kindly voice. “But, I--I--” stammered Miss Jane. “Good-night! Good-night, all!” said Lucille. “It's all arranged, Miss Hurley,” and she bore the professor away.