“He has wonderful fingers,” said his wife, pausing in her work. “Listen! How, that is really quite unusual work.”
“Is it? You ought to know. It’s all fury and fuss to me. But I like the way he sticks it. The other youngsters were trying to pull him away—I saw them at it, but it was no go.”
“He loves his music. He’s quite mad about it,” replied his wife.
“He may be,” said the Colonel, “but it’s not that. It’s a point of honour with him. He has a kind of feeling his mother would like it.”
“He’s a queer little chap, you know. He has queer ideas about things.”
“What do you mean exactly?” inquired the Colonel. “Queer in what sense?”
“Well,” said his wife thoughtfully, “he has queer ideas about God. He says he sees Him. One day I found him with an intense look upon his face, and his explanation was that he was listening for God.”
“‘Speak, Lord, for Thy servant heareth,’” quoted the Colonel to himself.
“But, my dear,” protested his wife, “you know that sort of thing was quite all right for those times. But now-a-days, in British Columbia—well, you know, it’s a little unusual.”
“‘If any man hear My voice and open the door,’” again quoted the Colonel softly.