stood Mrs. Machin and Windmill, her hand resting on his arm, he jauntily holding his bowler hat. Overhead the inquisitive gulls swept with glistening wings, peering down at the mysterious conclave.
When the minister had finished his discourse he announced the number of a hymn. Vale then perceived that all present had been supplied with small red hymn books. Solomon's former wife was so heavy that she had to be raised to her feet by the united strength of the elderly men in check shirts. As she rose a lunch that she had been holding in her lap rolled to the ground, the red handkerchief in which it was wrapped fell open, and the idiot boy seeing the food, like manna, at his very hand, snatched a cold sausage and a piece of cheese, and scuttled to the shelter of his mother's skirt with them. None of the Indians could read, but they stared at their books with solemn attention. The minister struck a few tinkling notes on the autoharp and raised his nasal tenor voice. The Chards and Windmill supported him so sturdily that the air swelled to a considerable volumn. Like a metallic thread the voice of the autoharp persisted thinly from first to last. The spectators in the cherry orchard could distinguish some words of the refrain:
"I'll stand by until the morrow.
"I've come to save you do not fe-ar;
"I'll stand by until the mor-row,
"I've come to save you do not fear."
The minister's voice rose with a swoop of indescribable anguish on the first "fear." A guffaw burst from the three Scots, silenced only by a frown from Derek. The boy in the swing, wrought upon by the sensuousness of the scene, bent and straightened his body vigourously so that he
