Then as across the crackle of the fire came the confident word of David the Singer:  “The earth is the Lord’s and the fullness thereof; the world and they that dwell therein,” intoned in the old man’s reverent voice, something led Everett’s glance out through the open door to see the bit of divine dominion that spread before him with new eyes and a newer understanding.  Harpeth Valley lay like the tender palm of a huge master hand with the knuckles of rough blue hills knotted around it, and dotted over the fostering meadows were comfortable homes, each with its morning altar fire sending up opal wreaths of mist smoke from the red brick or stone chimneys.  Long creek lines marked their way across the fields which were growing tender green with the upbringing of the spring grain.

“Who hath measured the waters in the hollow of His hand,” droned Uncle Tucker. “The hollow of His hand,” assented Everett’s conscience in artistic appreciation of the simile.

“And stretched out the heavens as a curtain, and spreadeth them out as a tent to dwell in,” came as another line of interpretation of the picture spread before the strangely unshackled eyes of the bowed man with the little boy kneeling beside him.  Quickly he turned toward Rose Mary with almost a startled glance and found in her eyes the fact that she had been faring forth over Harpeth Valley on the wings of Uncle Tucker’s supplication as had he.  The wonder of it rose in his eyes, which were about to lay bare to her depths never before stirred, when a fervent “Amen!  I beat you that time, Tobe!” fairly exploded at his ear as the General took the final word out of Uncle Tucker’s very mouth in rival to his worshipping opponent.

“I said it first, but it got blowed into Miss Ro’ Mary’s sleeve,” avowed Tobe with a flaunt at his competitor.

“If nobody he’r’n it, it don’t count,” decided the General with emphasis.  And in friendly dispute he escorted his rival down the front walk, while Uncle Tucker, as was his custom, busied himself straightening hymn-book and Bible, so leaving the family altar in readiness for the beginning of a new day.  And thus the primitive ceremonial, the dread of which had kept Everett late in bed every morning for a month, had resolved itself into what seemed to him but the embrace of a tender, whimsical brotherhood in which the old mystic both assumed and accounted for a stewardship in behalf of the others assembled under his roof-tree.

But in the eyes of Miss Lavinia all forms of service were the marshalling of the hosts in battle array and at all times she was enlisted in the ranks of the church militant, and upon this occasion she bore down upon Everett with banners unfurled.

“We are mighty gratified to welcome you at last in the circle of family worship, young man,” she declaimed, as reproach and cordiality vied in her voice.  “I have been a-laying off to ask you what church you belonged to in New York, and have a little talk with you over some of our sacred duties that young people of this generation are apt—­”