‘Yes, sir,’ answered Uncle Mark, while his blue eyes wandered over the group. ‘Here be Brother Strangeways, Brother Smith, Brother Hornblower, Brother Billy Horn-blower, Brother Luke Peartree, and myself. Not to speak of little Madlin--she axed to come in, and a child can’t begin too early.’ Brother Brown coughed heavily and looked at the kitchen door, through which came at intervals a dull clangour as of pots and pans. ‘Then I suppose,’ he said, ‘Sister Peartree is still obdurate. Will she not join our little gathering, and listen for once to the words of healing?’ Uncle Mark looked very red and uncomfortable, and jerked his thumb awkwardly towards the door. ‘Never mind the missus to-day, Brother Brown--she’s had a heap o’ worrit during the week, and the fact is, she ain’t just tidy enough to come into the best parlour.’ Brother Brown’s heavy brow darkened. ‘“Six days shalt thou labour,”’ he said. ‘Well, brother, you are the head of your own house, and I leave our unregenerate sister to you. Let us pray.’ Thereupon all, including Madeline, knelt down, while Brother Brown exercised his spirit in a long prayer, with variations and expressions of sympathy in the form of low groans and ejaculations from his companions--who had all again (to resume a former metaphor) retired under water. Emerging once more, and receiving a signal from Brother Brown, Brother Billy Hornblower, an overgrown young bargee of twenty, began a homely hymn, in which all the others gruffly joined. Pilot the boat to the City of Jesus, Up with the tide, though there’s danger afloat* Far up the stream lies the City of Jesus, Dark is the night, but we’ll pilot the boat. Chorus. Pilot the boat, mates! pilot the boat! Hark, the wind rises--there’s danger afloat-- Courage! for up to the City of Jesus, Steadily, safely, we’ll pilot the boat. See, mates, the lights of the City of Jesus, Steer for them lights, thro’ the dangers afloat-- Up to the wharves of the City of Jesus, Ere the tide turns, we must pilot the boat. Chorus. Pilot the boat, mates! pilot the boat! Hark, the wind rises--there’s danger afloat-- Courage! and up to the City of Jesus, Steadily, safely, we’ll pilot the boat. As the music grew louder, the clatter in the kitchen increased, to the obvious dissatisfaction of Brother Mark. The hymn ceased, and Brother Brown delivered a short sermon, founded on the text, ‘Those that go down to the sea in ships,’ which was felt to be especially suitable to those who went down the river in barges.