"It puts me in mind," John went on enthusiastically, "of one of the hymns in good old Mrs. Barry's hymn-book, 'Dr. Rippon's Selection,' you remember, that you sometimes laugh at me about."
"Do I, John? I am very sorry I ever did; but I never will laugh at you again," said Tom, who was moved by John's earnestness, so as almost to reverence him for his humble piety.
"Oh, that's nothing, Tom. I never minded your laughing, dear friend. I do many things that are fit only to be laughed at, I know. But that hymn, I often think of it, Tom. It begins—"
"Through all the various shifting scene
Of life's mistaken ill or good,
Thy hand, O God, conducts unseen
The beautiful vicissitude."
"And then there's another—"
"Thy ways, O Lord, with wise design,
Are framed upon Thy throne above,
And every dark and bending line.
Meets in the centre of Thy love."
"So beautiful because so true," added John.
"You seem to have got them by heart, dear John," said Tom.
"Yes," said John, quietly, "a good many of the hymns I have. The fact is, I have got good old Mrs. Barry's hymn-book. She left it me as a legacy when she died, about six years ago. She thought of me as poor little Josiah Tincroft's only child, the last of the Tincrofts, she said, and told her son (the college scout, you remember) to send it to me, with her love, which he did."
In her father's absence, the young Helen was passing away the time pleasantly enough at Tincroft House; the only drawback she experienced was her anxiety on account of his health, and this was partly modified and allayed by the encouraging hopes that had been held out to her by her very kind host and hostess.