"The young folks like it," she murmured, "and it ain't a bad looking sight. They'll drown'd our voices, and that will be all right. I've been most afraid this good while that I sung too loud, for I s'pose my voice is getting old, but now I needn't be afraid of troubling anybody." "You'll have to permit congregational singing," explained lively Miss Parker to Mr. Pemberton, at their first rehearsal. "It was the only ground on which the innovation was permitted, that the choir should simply lead the congregation. It's in the charter, or the constitution, or something; no, the man who gave the organ, fifty years or so ago, stipulated that there should always be congregational singing." "Oh, certainly," said the affable Mr. Pemberton; "we'll simply lead the congregation; that is all in the world we propose to do; they may sing to their heart's content." And he twinkled his handsome eyes, and looked so good-naturedly about him, that the girls voted him "perfectly delightful." So now everything was in readiness, and the pastor was reading the hymn: "All hail the power of Jesus' name; Let angels prostrate fall; Bring forth the royal diadem And crown Him Lord of all." "Coronation!" Auntie Barber's special favorite, and the tune to which Uncle John Bennett always growled his heaviest bass. Old Deacon Slocumb, the former leader, adjusted his spectacles, found the place and meekly waited. He was about to sing the songs of Zion in a strange land, or at least under strange circumstances; but he loved the service, and struggled for a meek and quiet spirit. And the song burst forth. Coronation indeed! Old Coronation was hoary-haired when the tune was born. How it rolled and swelled in triumph through the astonished church! "All hail!" said the tenor in clear, full tones. "All hail!" repeated the bass in voice of thunder. "All hail!" shrieked the soprano in full volume, followed hard after by the alto, who would not be outdone; and then the entire strength of the choir took up the words and shouted and roared, "All hail the power!" Then, wonderful to relate, went back to the "All hail" and did it over. About this time Auntie Barber had reached, through much quavering, the last word of the second line, then lifted her bewildered eyes to the choir and listened. "I must have lost the place," she meekly said. Even yet, it had not occurred to her that the choir could possibly be singing anything but Coronation to those words! As for Deacon Slocumb, he took off his spectacles, carefully wiped and re-adjusted them, and was looking for his place again by the time the choir reached the word "power." They finished the line in unison, then went off into a whirl of ecstasy over the angels. "Let a-a-a angels—" sang one part, "prostrate fall, FALL, FALL," thundered another part; until Joe Slocumb, the Deacon's graceless son, looked about him and grinned, and wondered where they were falling to!