"Know? How could I help a-knowin'? Haven't I stood at my own cabin door, night after night, an' sometimes in the marnin', too, a-listenin' to yer singin', remindin' me of a sweet canary bird penned up in a gloomy cage. An' didn't one of the young fellers up yon freeze his toes one night sittin' on the stump of a tree when ye was warblin' 'Annie Laurie'? I ain't got much use fer them newcomers, but to-day bein' Christmas, I feel kinder warm towards'm, an' would like fer'm ter hear ye sing a bit. It 'ud do'm a mighty lot of good."
Constance laughed. She was feeling better already. "Well, I'll go then," she assented, "if you will promise to look after me."
"I'll see to that," responded Pete, delighted with his success. "I'll stand off any one, even the angel Gabriel himself, except one thing."
"And what's that?"
"It's love," solemnly answered the old man. "It's the cutest, wiriest thing a man kin run aginst. It's so mighty powerful that it'll make the strongest an' biggest chap as weak as a baby, an' the smallest woman as strong as a giant. I can't savvy it, nohow."
"I guess you will have no trouble about such an opponent to-night," laughed Constance, as she drew on her mittens.
"Mebbe not, lassie; but we'll see."
The service was short and the strangest that Constance had ever witnessed. Accustomed, as she was, to the familiar and dignified form of the Church of England, this appeared harsh, and at times almost ludicrous. Keith led off with the opening hymn of "Nearer, My God, to Thee," in a clear, strong, tenor voice, trusting to his memory for the words. He was followed by the others, those who knew the hymn giving him much assistance. There were a few, however, who persisted in swinging off on tunes of their own composition.
"Stop yer yelpin'," said a miner to one of these vagrant singers. "Yer spilin' the show."
But the other heeded not, and with head thrown back against the wall, and brawny chest expanded, almost drowned the rest of the voices by his marvellous roars.