His great mouth opened widely in this form of praise and his eyes had a wild stare in them when he aimed at the low notes. Ransom Walker, a man of great dignity, with a bristling moustache, who had once been a schoolmaster, led the choir and carried the tenor part. It was no small privilege after the elder had announced the hymn, to see him rise and tap the desk with his tuning fork and hold it to his ear solemnly. Then he would seem to press his chin full hard upon his throat while he warbled a scale. Immediately, soprano, alto, bass and tenor launched forth upon the sea of song. The parts were like the treacherous and conflicting currents of a tide that tossed them roughly and sometimes overturned their craft. And Ransom Walker showed always a proper sense of danger and responsibility. Generally they got to port safely on these brief excursions, though exhausted. He had a way of beating time with his head while singing and I have no doubt it was a great help to him. The elder came over to me after meeting, having taken my tears for a sign of conviction. 'May the Lord bless and comfort you, my boy!' said he. I got away shortly and made for the door. Uncle Eb stopped me. 'My stars, Willie!' said he putting his hand on my upper coat pocket' 'what ye got in there?' 'Doughnuts,' I answered. 'An' what's this?' he asked touching one of my side pockets. 'Doughnuts,' I repeated. 'An' this,' touching another. 'That's doughnuts too,' I said. 'An' this,' he continued going down to my trousers pocket. 'Bread an' butter,' I answered, shamefacedly, and on the verge of tears. 'Jerusalem!' he exclaimed, 'must a 'spected a purty long sermon. 'Brought 'em fer ol' Fred,' I replied. 'Ol' Fred!' he whispered, 'where's he?' I told my secret then and we both went out with Hope to where we had left him. He lay with his head between his paws on the bed of grass just as I had seen him lie many a time when his legs were weary with travel on Paradise Road, and when his days were yet full of pleasure. We called to him and Uncle Eb knelt and touched his head. Then he lifted the dog's nose, looked a moment into the sightless eyes and let it fall again. 'Fred's gone,' said he in a low tone as he turned away. 'Got there ahead uv us, Willy.' Hope and I sat down by the old dog and wept bitterly. Chapter 10 Uncle Eb was a born lover of fun. But he had a solemn way of fishing that was no credit to a cheerful man. It was the same when he played the bass viol, but that was also a kind of fishing at which he tried his luck in a roaring torrent of sound. Both forms of dissipation gave him a serious look and manner, that came near severity. They brought on his face only the light of hope and anticipation or the shadow of disappointment.