turned with gentlest courtesy to Miss Eden, and asked:  ’What were the children going to sing?’—­whereupon, being told that it waft a hymn called ‘The Lord is my Shepherd,’ she so very sweetly entreated them to sing it with her, that none of them could refuse.  And she led them all with wondrous care and patience, giving to the very simple tune, a tender and noble pathos such as they had never heard before, yet which they unconsciously absorbed into their own singing, as they lifted up their youthful voices in tremulous unison.

    “The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want,
     He maketh me down to lie,
     In pleasant fields where the lilies grow. 
     And the river runneth by.

    “The Lord is my Shepherd; He feedeth me
     In the depth of a desert land,
     And lest I should in the darkness slip,
     He holdeth me by the hand.

    “The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want,
     My mind on Him is stayed,
     And though through the Valley of Death I walk,
     I shall not be afraid.

    “The Lord is my Shepherd; O Shepherd sweet,
     Leave me not here to stray;
     But guide me safe to Thy heavenly fold,
     And keep me there, I pray!”

John Walden, passing through the churchyard just at this time, heard the rhythmic rise and fall of the quaint old melody with a strange thrill at his heart.  He had listened to the self-same hymn over and over again,—­every year the school-children re-studied and re-sang it,—­but there was something altogether new in its harmony this time,—­something appealing and pathetic which struck to the inmost core of his sensitive nature.  Noiselessly, he entered the church, and for a moment or two stood unobserved, watching the little scene before him.  Cicely was at the organ, and her hands still rested on the keys, but she was speaking to the members of the choir.

“That is very nicely done,”—­she said, encouragingly—­“But you must try and keep more steadily together in tune, must they not, Miss Eden?”—­and she turned to the schoolmistress at her side, who, with a smile, agreed.  “You”—­and she touched pretty Susie Prescott on the arm,—­“You sing delightfully!  It is a little voice—­but so very sweet!”

Susie blushed deeply and curtsied.  It had got about in the village that Miss Vancourt’s young friend from Paris was a musical ‘prodigy,’ and praise from her was something to be remembered.

“Now listen!” went on Cicely—­“I’m not going to sing full voice, because I’m not allowed to yet,—­but this is how that hymn should go!” And her pure tones floated forth pianissimo, with slow and tender solemnity:—­

    “The Lord is my Shepherd; O Shepherd sweet,
     Leave me not here to stray;
     But guide me safe to Thy heavenly fold,
     And keep me there, I pray! 
                              Amen!”

Silence followed.  The children stood wonder-struck, and Miss Eden’s eyes filled with emotional tears.