There were ninety and nine that safely lay
In the shelter of the fold.
She trilled the words with an eager gusto, closing her eyes; the upper part of her thin face took on a singular look of repose, while the lower part, always emphatic, with its large cleft chin, seemed more than ever masterful and active. The McDonald family followed her lead, and soon her husband, a big, grim-looking man with a square beard, raised a sulky bass—as if under compulsion. At the end of the first stanza she opened her eyes and said to Floyd:
"Don't you know the words?"
"No," Floyd answered. "And I don't sing."
"That's too bad," she said compassionately. "But how you must enjoy listenin'!—
There were ninety and nine—"
and her eyes had closed again.
Floyd had at first thought that Mrs. Tustin's sudden outburst must disconcert the musicians, but both Farrell and Letty were now singing with complete heartiness. When the last stanza had been finished, Mrs. Tustin turned again to Floyd.
"It always does me good to sing a hymn," she said. "After that I feel ready for anything."
"Oh, it's sweet." Miss Lally Gorham's voice emerged tranquil, deep, and final from among the mutterings, and to Floyd, glancing up, it appeared that, just as before, she was speaking directly to him.
"Oh yes, your turn 'll come," murmured Mrs. Tustin with deep hostility.
"Who is she?" Floyd asked.
"Lally Gorham, and she's had these outlandish airs since she began taking of an elocutionist. She'll speak a piece to-night; you can't stop her. She's planning to be an actress.—I was just thinking; Tustin and me could accommodate you in our regular spare-room—it's got a nice set of yellow ash furniture, new only this spring—and a good bit roomier than anything in this house—"
