"'Hark, hark, my soul! Angelic songs are swelling, O'er earth's green fields and ocean's wave-beat shore.'" Glancing across, she saw his drawn face relax a trifle, and he snuggled his thin cheek contentedly against the pillow. High and sweet her voice rose tremulously: "'Angels of light, Singing to welcome the pilgrims of the night.'" The song had many associations for them both. What he was thinking about she could not guess, but when she began the third verse: "'Far, far away like bells at evening pealing,'" her own thoughts were back in that time when she rocked in her arms the dearest little son that ever cuddled against a mother's shoulder. She was recalling time after time when she had held him so, telling him good-night stories, listening to his funny little questions and baby confidences, and kissing the dimpled fingers clasped in her own when he knelt to lisp his evening prayer. He had always been a comfort to her, even in the boisterous outbreaking days that are the most trying in a boy's growing-up time. There had never been a noisier boy, or one who threw himself into his play with more headlong vigor, but, in a flash, scene after scene passed through her mind, showing him both at work and play as she had prayed he might be, strong and manly and clean and absolutely fearless either of fists or opinions. Then she thought of his touching consideration of her when he tried "to take father's place behind the plow." He had been a tower of strength to her from that day on. What a future she had dreamed for him, and now in the high tide of his young manhood, when he should have years of conquest and achievement ahead of him, here he was a helpless cripple! "Rest comes at last, though life be long and dreary, The day must dawn, and darksome night be passed." Her voice faltered almost to breaking now, as she sang on, rebelling at the thought that his life which promised so fair, should have been made long and dreary, changed so hopelessly and so suddenly into darksome night. It seemed so cruel, she thought, with a tightening of the throat which made it almost impossible to finish the song. But supposing from the peaceful expression of Jack's face that he was falling asleep, she sang bravely on to the end, although the tears were dropping down on the seam in her now idle hands. "Angels sing on, your faithful watches keeping, Sing us sweet fragments of the song above, Till morning's joy shall end the night of weeping, And life's long shadows break in cloudless love. Angels of Jesus, Angels of light, Singing to welcome The pilgrims of the night." Looking across as the last note died away, she thought he was asleep, and rose to draw down the window-shade. But as she tiptoed past him he opened his eyes and held out his hand to draw her to him.