Iddo was startled, and could not help comparing the intense earnestness of the soldier of the King, with the utter indifference she had been impressed with in the land she had left: and at the same time, Chisleu's face having regained its calm joy, she could not but contrast the peace and happiness written so plainly there and in the faces of the other pilgrims, who were walking so merrily on in front of her, with the artificial merriment of that land. Everyone there had seemed to her, the more she knew them, to be making amusement their work rather than their recreation. She was sure it was sometimes real hard work. And when the excitement was over she had often seen a look of weariness on the faces of those who had worked the hardest to procure the fun. Iddo found that the pilgrims' songs were not all directly about the Radiant City and its King. They sang about the beauties of the way, of the flowers the King had raised to cheer them, of the trees He had planted to give them shade, of the changing sky overhead, and the sweet-scented winds about them; of the stars and sun the King had created to give them light on the way, of the ever-moving sea, of which they often caught glimpses, of all the wonders of nature; they sang also of the beauty of love, of acts of heroism, of thoughts too deep for words, and when Iddo expressed some surprise at what she heard, Chisleu reminded her of the words in the Guide Book, "'The works of the Lord are great, sought out of all them that have pleasure therein.'" Iddo was much struck by noticing the great change in Chisleu, how his voice had softened, and his mind expanded, and how, instead of thinking that every one was in the wrong, he constantly confessed that he was in the wrong himself, and imputed good motives to people where others found it difficult to do so. But every now and then the old enemies got the better of him; he would suddenly irritably interrupt the pilgrims in their songs, with the complaint that they were singing out of tune, or too fast for the newcomers, or had put the wrong tune to the words. And now and then his irritability would become infectious, so that he would suddenly awake to the fact that he had been the means of discord. But whenever this happened he confessed his sin so humbly, that the enemy, who had done what he could to make him inconsistent, had to retreat, with the knowledge that Chisleu's quick confession of sin, instead of resulting in confusion and in making an occasion for other enemies to run in, had been the means of shaming some of the pilgrims who had given way, and had caused them to resist the enemy. "Mr. Chisleu," said Iddo, "I want to learn to sing. Will you teach me?" "Teach you! Nay, you must go to the King Himself for that. We can only sing when He teaches us."