“What’s eating you, you blooming idiot!  Where in thunder did you rake up this dump, anyway?  If you’ve got to go to church, why in the name of all that’s a bore can’t you pick out a place where the congregation take a bath once a month whether they need it or not?” he whispered, in a loud growl.

But Courtland’s eyes were already fixed on the bright, intelligent face and red hair of the man who stood behind the cheap little pulpit.  He was the same John Burns!  A window just behind the platform, set with crude red and blue and yellow lights of cheap glass, sent its radiance down, upon his head, and the yellow bar lay across his hair like a halo; behind him, in the colored lights, there seemed to stand the Presence.  It was so vivid to Courtland at first that he drew in his breath and looked sharply at Tennelly, as if he, too, must see, though he knew there was nothing visible, of course, but the lights, the glory, and the little, freckled, earnest man giving out a hymn.

And the singing!  If one were looking for discord, well, it was there, every shade of it that the world had ever known!  There were quavering old voices, and piping young ones; off the key and on the key, squeaking, grating, screaming, howling, with all their earnest might, but the melody lifted itself in a great voice on high and seemed to bear along the spirit of the congregation.

     “I need Thee every hour. 
       Stay Thou near by;
     Temptations lose their power
       When Thou art nigh. 
     I need Thee, oh I, need Thee,
       Every hour I need Thee;
     O bless me now, my Saviour,
       I come to Thee!”

These people, then, knew about the Presence, loved it, longed for it, understood its power!  They sang of the Presence and were glad!  There were, then, others in the world who knew, besides himself and Stephen and Stephen Marshall’s mother!  Without knowing what he was doing, Courtland sang.  He did not know the words, but he felt the spirit, and he groped along in syllables as he caught them.

Tennelly sat gazing around him, highly amused, not attempting to suppress his mirth.  His eyes fairly danced as he observed first one absorbed worshiper, and then another, intent upon the song.  He fancied himself taking off the old elder on the other side of the aisle, and the intense young woman with the large mouth and the feather in her hat.  Her voice was killing.  He could make the fellows die laughing, singing as she did, in a high falsetto.

He looked at Courtland to enjoy it with him, and lo!  Courtland was singing with as much earnestness as the rest; and upon his face there sat a high, exalted look that he had never seen there before.  Was it true that the fire and the sickness had really affected Court’s mind, after all?  He had seemed so like his old self lately that they had all hoped he was getting over it.

During the prayer Courtland dropped his head and closed his eyes.  Tennelly glanced around and marveled amusedly at the serious attitude of all.  Even a row of tough-looking kids on the back seats had at least one eye apiece squinted shut during the prayer, and almost an atmosphere of reverence upon them.