"We had gone on in this David-and-Jonathan style perhaps a year, when Miss Sparrow came to St. Luke's as soprano singer. I remember her first appearance in our dim old gallery that last Sunday in Lent--how she seemed to brighten and glorify the place like a ray from heaven. And then her voice! It set you thinking of angels. Moreover, she had the complexion peculiar to that family, and the blue eyes and golden hair. For the life of me, I couldn't help twisting my neck to look at her, at the imminent risk of spoiling my accompaniment. "That noon Timothy electrified me by appearing in the organ-loft while it still echoed with the benediction, though heretofore he had invariably waited for me after service in the vestibule. I happened just then to be congratulating the new soprano on being in such capital voice that morning, and as the tenor stepped across to shake hands with Timothy, I went on talking with her till she left. When I turned the singers were gone, and there stood my poor David, frowning at a music-rest so savagely that I fancied he must be suffering from a bad headache, and expressed my sympathy. "'Headache? I haven't a headache,' he growled, stalking down stairs in advance. "I thought he needn't have felt so enraged if he hadn't, and walked on in dumb dignity. Presently he observed testily that when he honored me with a call in my citadel, it might be polite in me to introduce him to my friends. "I said I thought he knew the members of the choir--all, at least, but the soprano. "'Well, she's somebody, I suppose.' "'I beg your pardon, Timothy,' I cried amazed. It didn't occur to me you'd care to become acquainted with her. I didn't present you because I fancied you'd consider the introduction a bore.' "'You're sure of that, Hal?' he asked with a sort of fierce eagerness. You haven't any personal motive for not wishing to extend Miss Sparrow's circle of gentlemen friends?' "I burst out laughing at the absurdity of the idea. It was but a week, remember, since my own introduction to the young lady. "Timothy drew a long breath, and straightway spent it in questions concerning her: Who was her father? Who was her mother? Had she a sister? Had she a brother? "I told him all I knew. Her father lived on State street; her mother lived in heaven: sisters she had none, but of little brothers something less than a score, who dogged her steps as persistently as the bass follows the air. To escort her home from rehearsal was to lead the van of an infant squadron, a running accompaniment which the night before had disturbed my mental harmony.