Brother Hornblower, who indeed stood near, turned pale at the mention of his name. ‘He think’s it’s me a-singing,’ he observed, brushing his sleeve across his eyes; and he added, bending gently over Uncle Mark, ‘Will I sing a bit of a hymn, Brother Peartree?9 ‘Aye, aye,’ murmured Uncle Mark, closing his eyes. Whereupon Brother Hornblower, clasping his hands before him and looking on vacancy, commenced to sing in his own peculiar style part of a hymn which was very popular with the Brethren of the river: Up the shining river, Sailing with the tide, Jesus is my pilot, Jesus is my guide. Steer the wessel, Jesus, Steer it night and day, To the Golden City Far, far away. See how hard ’tis blowing, Th’re’ll be win; to-night-- Tremble not, my brothers, He will steer us right. Steer the wessel, Jesus, Steer it night and day. To the Golden City Far, far away. While the hymn lasted, Uncle Mark remained lying in his wife’s arms as if asleep--he remained so for some time after the hymn was done. The kettle went on singing, the cat went on purring, and the clock seemed to tick with more bell-like clearness than before. When he again opened his eyes the old wandering look had passed away. ‘Do you know me, Mark, dear?’ asked his wife. ‘Aye, mother--I know ye all. There be Luke--there be little Madlin--and that be Brother Billy Hornblower--I’ve been a-dreaming that he was a-singing to me.’ ‘And so I were, Brother Peartree,’ exclaimed the musician softly. ‘Was ye now?9 said Uncle Mark, smiling gently. ‘Well, mate, I take that as wery kind.’ He closed his eyes again. Brother Hornblower turned his simple face to Mrs. Peartree and whispered:-- ‘There be another werse, Sister Peartree--shall I sing it? He seems to feel it kind o’ soothin’, and,’ he added eagerly, ‘them’s blessed words.’ Mrs. Peartree nodded; she could not speak, for her tears choked her; and the thin but musical voice piped again: Who’s afraid when Jesus Like an angel stands, Holding sheet and tiller In His holy hands? Steer the wessel, Jesus, Steer it night and day, To the Golden City Far, far away. When the hymn ended this time, Uncle Mark opened his eyes, turned a radiant face to the singer--then he turned to his wife.