"What do you mean?" asked Sibyl.
"Why, when I hear a lady playing a long uninteresting piece of music, it always turns out to be something with variations. That choir is just the same; everything they sing is long and unintelligible. I wonder at the patience of the congregation in listening to it. However they had a doxology after the sermon, sung—to the tune of 'Old Hundred;' everybody joined in and let off their feelings in that way. It acted as a sort of safety-valve."
"There is nothing in worship so inspiring as congregational singing," said Aunt Faith, "and I always wonder why it is not general in our churches."
"It is difficult to introduce it when the people are not accustomed to it," said Sibyl; "only a particular kind of music can be sung, broad, plain tunes with even notes like 'Old Hundred,' or the German Chorals. Then the organist must understand his duties thoroughly; he has to supply the harmony and lead the congregation at the same time."
"The music in a church depends greatly upon the pastor," said Bessie. "If his musical ideas are correct, and his taste good, his choir will be good also."
"Not always," said Hugh, laughing; "choirs are apt to be despotic. I remember when I was at Green Island, last summer, I used to go up to the little fort chapel to attend service on Sunday; I knew the chaplains quite well. One Sunday I was late; as I went in, the choir were busy with something in the way of music. I have no idea what it was, but it went on and on, seemingly a race between the soprano and tenor, with occasional bursts of hurried sentences from the alto and bass, until my patience and ears were weary. The next day I met the chaplain, and, in the course of conversation, I spoke of the music the previous day. 'Was it an anthem or a motet?' I asked."
"Oh, don't ask me," said the old gentleman, lifting his hands and shaking his head; "I have not the least idea myself. They had been at it a long time when you came in!"
"Poor chaplain!" said Bessie, laughing.
As sunset faded into twilight, Sibyl took her seat at the organ, the cousins gathered around her, and the evening singing began. They all had their favorites, and sang them in turn, beginning with Gem's, and ending with Aunt Faith's, which was Wesley's beautiful hymn, "Jesus, Saviour of my Soul." Hugh selected, "Brightest and Best of the Sons of the Morning;" Sibyl, "Luther's Judgment Hymn;" and Bessie, "Come ye Disconsolate," in order that Hugh should sing the solo. Aunt Faith sat by the window and listened, looking out into the night, and thinking of her circle of loved ones beyond the stars.
The young voices sang on from hymn to chant, from chant to anthem, and from anthem back to simple choral. At nine o'clock Tom and Gem went to bed, and at half-past nine, Sibyl closed the organ and said "good-night;" Aunt Faith was left with Bessie and Hugh, who joined her on the broad-cushioned window-seat and looked out with her into the night. "I like the darkness of a summer night," said Hugh; "how bright the stars are!"