The winter waned, and the good-natured Theodore kept his position, and introduced innovation after innovation in his gentlemanly way, until it is a wonder the old church knew itself. Among other things the old reed organ, which had done good service for several years, was pronounced a wheezy, squeaky, harsh-throated old thing; in which opinion let me hasten to confess my sympathy. I had no love for that organ, which, when all the stops were out, had the power to drown any voice, however sweet. It was declared that a pipe organ was the only thing fit for a church, anyway; and here, again, I must admit that my heart approved. I love the music of a pipe organ. It was found that a certain church, known to the friendly Theodore, was about to set up a new organ, and would dispose of their old one, purely out of consideration for the said Theodore, at a very low figure indeed. And our choir, which could be very enthusiastic indeed when it chose, declared its intention of raising enough money, forthwith, for that organ. Vigorously did they set to work. A busy winter we had of it. And by pop-corn parties, and white-apron parties, mid post-offices, and prize pincushions, and grab-bags, necktie sociables, and sheet and pillow-case sociables, and every other kind of sociable or game of grab which was ever invented, the organ fund actually swelled to respectable proportions. Never was a busier winter, nor a more popular man than the gentlemanly leader of our choir. His good nature and his self-sacrifice knew no bounds. Indeed, the young people were all self-sacrificing. They sacrificed the prayer meeting, and the mission band, and the reading circle, and almost everything else except the skating rink, in their zeal for the pipe organ. "It is all for the sake of the cause, you know," grew to be the motto of the young people, and it was really wonderful what marvels of ingenuity they became! And they succeeded; just as a band of young people, plunged heart and soul into anything, are almost certain to succeed. The everlasting pity is that so often success is not worth the price paid! But there came a happy day in which the pipe organ was set up by skilled hands in our church, and the Sabbath following the choir outdid themselves. It was long since Auntie Barber had attempted to sing; but on this particular day she was seen moving her lips. She explained it afterwards. "The critter rolled so loud, and the girls all sang so high, that I just put in Old Hundred, softly, because I wanted to have a share in the praising. I thought nobody would mind. They drownded it, you know." But Auntie Barber was mistaken; the echo of her tremulous notes: "'Praise Him all creatures here below,'" went up to Heaven, and the angels minded it very much. And the good-natured Theodore happened to notice the movement of her lips, and whispered to the first soprano during an organ interlude: