Paula's voice trembled at the beginning. Then presently the sadness in her tones disappeared, and they seemed to swell out like an echo of radiant happiness. Catalina listened, hardly breathing. Involuntarily, I asked myself if Paula in heaven would be any different from the little country girl I saw seated near the window at this moment. I had an instant's impression that a man was standing behind the door, but I felt this could not be, for I knew that my father would be at his office. A special light came over the expressive face of Paula as she continued: "There they need no sunshine bright, In the city four-square, For the Lamb is all the light, And there is no night there." And then again the wonderful refrain: "God shall wipe away all tears; There's no death, no pain, nor fears; And they count not time by years, For there is no night there." The sweet sounds died away, and Paula looked smilingly at Catalina as if asking her opinion of the song. "What a marvelous song!" exclaimed the poor sick girl. "And, Paula, you have a voice like an angel!" I did not hear my little companion's reply. This time I was not mistaken; there was someone there behind that door. Impelled by curiosity I ran to open it At first I saw no one in the darkened passage, but finally I could make out my father moving off down the hall. When he saw that I had discovered him, he stopped and put a finger to his lips, and made signs to me to keep silent, but in my surprise I cried, "Is it you, father?" "Yes," he answered, "I came home earlier than I expected. Was that Paula who was singing in Catalina's room?" "I--I--don't know," I hesitated, not knowing what to say. There was an instant of terrible silence like a calm before the storm. "You--don't--know," my father slowly repeated. "You dare to look at me and say you don't know when you have just this moment come out of your sister's room?" "Oh, father, please forgive me," I exclaimed penitently. "It was indeed Paula that sang. But don't punish her. She didn't know that you had forbidden our singing hymns." "Who said I was going to punish her?" my father questioned. And I could see that his anger had cooled. "Come here!" Taking me by the hand, we went back together to my sister's room. "Would it tire you, Catalina, to hear Paula sing again?" he asked. "Why, no, father," Catalina answered, surprised. "Then, Paula," said my father, "sing again that same song." And once more we heard, "There's no night there." "Who taught you to sing?" my father asked. "I think it was my father. But in our valley, everybody sings. On the roads, climbing the hills, caring for the animals, in the meetings; in fact, everywhere." Catalina looked at my father furtively, and noticed that his face remained serene, almost tender, and so she hastened to profit by the occasion. "Dear father," she said in a low voice, "Let her sing to us once in a while; will you? It's such a joy to hear her."