"That will surely be a treat!" she cried. "And--oh, Mr. Pippin, wait one moment! If you don't mind standing in the doorway of old Mr. Blossom's room, so he can hear you? He's real quiet now, and I'm sure 'twill do him good--" So Pippin stood in the doorway, and threw back his head and sang with all his heart and soul: "When I can read my title clear To mansions in the skies, I'll bid farewell to every fear, And wipe my weeping eyes." This hymn is left out of many hymn books nowadays; it is old-fashioned, and some of its lines are patently absurd: but I wish the hymnologists could hear Pippin sing it. His voice goes soaring up, a golden trump of victory and triumph: "There shall I bathe my weary soul In seas of heavenly rest; And not a wave of trouble roll Across my peaceful breast." As he finished, he swung round, his eyes blazing, every inch of him a-thrill. "Old man," he cried, and the passion in his voice made them all start. "Don't you feel it? Don't you feel somethin' crinklin' all through you, like sap in a sugar maple? That's the grace of God, Old man; let her run! Oh, Lord, let her run!" There was a moment's silence; then Mr. Blossom snickered. It is not a pretty word, but then it was not a pretty sound. Pippin was at his side in an instant, his eyes ablaze again, but with a very different light. "You old skunk!" he cried, gripping the bony shoulders hunched below the leering face. "You darned old son of a broken whisky jug, you dare to snicker before the Lord? For half a quarter of a cent I'd wring your rooster's neck for you, you--" He stopped, as if somebody had touched him. His head drooped, his arms dropped by his side, and he flushed scarlet from throat to forehead. He stood so for several minutes, no one stirring; then he turned humbly to Jacob Bailey. "I ask your pardon, sir, and the company's. I lost holt of myself. There! I am fairly ashamed." He leaned over the poor old sinner, who was still gasping from the sudden onslaught. "Hurt you, did I, Old Man? I ask your pardon, too, I do so. Lemme h'ist you a mite!" With anxious care he raised the shrunken figure and settled the pillows under the palsied head. "There! That comfy, old geezer? Now you go to sleep! I was a mutt to shake you up that way. Goo' night, Old Man!" * * * * *