Chapter XLII

Lady Gadsby and His Honor sat in Branton Hills' First Church, on a hot July Sunday. Out-doors, twitting birds, lacy clouds, and gay blossoms, told of happy hours in this long, bright month. Pastor Brown, announcing a hymn, said:--

"This is a charming hymn. Our choir always sings it without company; but today, I want _all_ you good folks to join in. Just pour forth your joy and sing it, good and strongly."

That hymn had six stanzas; and Gadsby, noting an actually _grand_ bass singing just back of him, thought of turning around, from curiosity; and as that fifth stanza was starting, said to Lady Gadsby:--

"Do you know who that is, singing that grand bass part?"

Lady Gadsby didn't; but Lady Gadsby was a woman; and, from Noah's Ark to Branton Hills' First Church, woman, as a branch of Mankind, was curious. So a slow casual turning brought a dig in His Honor's ribs:--

"It's Norman Antor!"

Pastor Brown, standing at that big church door as folks, filing out would stop for a word or two, said to Gadsby:--

"Young Antor is invariably in church, now-a-days. I may add to my choir, and am thinking of putting him in it. I'm so glad to find out about that boy winning his fight. I always _thought_ Norman would turn out all right."

Pastor Brown was right; and two Branton Hills girls, a Salvation Army lady, and a tiny tot of six had won crowns of Glory, from throwing rays of light into two badly stagnant Minds.