The room got darker, and the silence was unbroken for some time. Mary's voice had almost startled them with its fervour. "What is the hymn called?" asked Cecil presently. "The first verse is:" "When morning gilds the skies, My heart awaking cries, May Jesus Christ be praised Alike in work or prayer, To Jesus I repair, Let Jesus Christ be praised!" "But I am specially fond of the sixth verse—this:" "The night becomes as day, When from the heart we say, May Jesus Christ be praised! The powers of darkness fear, When this sweet chant they hear, May Jesus Christ be praised!" "I'll learn it," said Nancy, and perhaps the others thought the same, for Tom said gently, as he smoothed his sister's hand, "I should think it was almost worth while being ill!" CHAPTER XXVII. MID-WINTER. "HERE is the first Sunday in December, Mary!" said Tom, as he went to draw the curtains. "We may as well sit in the firelight till the tea comes in." "Yes, do let us!" said Nancy with a contented sort of sigh, as she nestled up close to her sister and laid her head on her shoulder. "It will soon be the shortest day," remarked Mary. "I do love the shortest day!" "Why?" asked Cecil. "Because I always feel as if 'the summer had begun,'" smiled Mary. "In mid-winter?" asked Cecil. "Yes. When the shortest day comes, I say to myself, 'My summer has begun.' You cannot think how, to rejoice in the lengthening days, seems to shorten the winter!" "I daresay it does," said Tom reflectively. "Every bit of hopefulness does one good, you know," Mary went on softly. "You laugh at me for quoting 'Pa Gladden' so often, but he says 'Human nature air always huntin' for the cheerful,' and I have noticed that cheery people bring sunshine." "I know one thing," said Cecil, "gloomy people are never liked." "Well, there is no better way of being cheerful than to have a firm hope in God," said Mary. "I was reading the other day one verse with a whole list of names, that David, in exulting thankfulness, calls the Lord his God. Just listen to them, and see if your heart does not grow stronger and braver and more hopeful as I repeat them—" Mary's little Bible was tucked into her workbasket close handy, and she leant down toward the blaze of the fire to read the very words. "'The Lord is my Rock, and my Fortress, and my Deliverer; my God, my Strength, in whom I will trust; my Buckler, and the horn of my Salvation, and my High Tower.'" "A pretty good list!" said Cecil smiling. "Where is it, Mary?" "The second verse of the eighteenth Psalm." "All in one verse?" asked Nancy. "All in one verse! That is a verse for those who are out in the world, fighting the everyday battles; and there is another for the weak and tired ones, that is just as wonderful—" "Well, let's have it," said Tom in his blunt hearty fashion, "then we can take our choice."