Some one slipped around from among the basses, and lifted him up; two tenors came to his assistance, and bore him to the choir room; and Grace with anxious face slipped from the organ-bench and followed as the sermon text was announced; and no one was the wiser. Cornelia in her secluded seat with her singing heart knew nothing of the commotion. A doctor was summoned from the congregation and discovered a dislocated shoulder, a broken finger, and a bad cut on the leg which had been bleeding profusely. Carey’s shoe was soaked with blood. Carey, coming to, was much mortified over his collapse, looked up nervily, and explained that he had had a slight accident, but would be all right in a minute. He didn’t know what made him go off like that. Then he promptly went off again. Maxwell and Harry from their vantage of the doorway had seen the sudden disappearance, and hurried round to the choir room. Now Maxwell explained briefly that Carey had “had a little trouble with a couple of roughs who were trying to get away with somebody’s car,” and must have been rather shaken up by the time he got to the church. “He sang wonderfully,” said Grace in a low tone full of feeling; “I don’t believe I ever heard that solo done better even by a professional.” “It certainly was great!” said Maxwell, and Harry slid to the outer door, and stood in the darkness, blinking with pride and muttering happily. “Aw, gee!” Carey came to again presently, and insisted on going back for the last hymn and the response after the closing prayer. Carey was a plucky one; and, though he was in pain, and looked white around his mouth, he slid into his seat up by the organ, and did his part with the rest. His hair had been combed and his face washed in the meantime, and Grace had found a thread and needle and put a few stitches in the torn garments, so that the damage was not apparent. Carey received the eager congratulations of the entire choir as they filed past him at the close of service. It was a proud moment for Cornelia, standing in her little niche at the head of the stairs, unable to get out till the crowd had passed. Every one stopped to tell her how proud she ought to be of her brother; and her cheeks were quite rosy and her eyes starry when she finally slipped away into the choir room to find Maxwell waiting for her, a tender solicitude in his face. “He’s all right,” he hastened to explain. “Just a little faint from the loss of blood, but he certainly was plucky to sing that solo with his shoulder out of place. It must have taken a lot of nerve. We’ve got him fixed up, and he’ll soon be all right.” Cornelia’s face went white in surprise. “Was he hurt?” she asked. “Oh, I didn’t think there would be danger—not of that kind! It was so kind of you to go after him! It is probably all due to you that he got here at all.” She gave him a look which was worth a reward, but he shook his head, smiling wistfully.