Harold's head was bowed; my eyes were fixed on Gordon. For my heart was busy with the thrilling memory of that long distant night when I first had heard the power of that earnest voice, first learned the grandeur of these mighty songs. Gordon seemed unconscious of our presence. His eyes were lifted up, beyond the things of time: he was like one lost among the hills, transported by their grandeur. Something more than human ecstasy throbbed through his voice when he sang the verse:
"As streams of water in the south
Our bondage, Lord, recall;
Who sow in tears, a reaping time
Of joy enjoy they shall."
Then he read some selection from the Scriptures. It was very short; and he read it slowly, his eyes never lifted from the page. When he prayed, he talked with God—all I can remember was the way he said "Our Father."
It was long after midnight when he and I went to our rest—we sat talking for hours and hours, and Harold was asleep in the room next to ours. Just before we put out our light Gordon suddenly turned to me, and his face was as youthful as when I saw it first.
"Helen, let us go and tuck Harold in—so he won't be cold."
I smiled, for I couldn't but remember Harold's age, but I threw a wrapper about me and Gordon and I went in together. We tucked him in, one on either side; I don't know whether Harold knew or not, but he played the part of childhood once again—when we kissed him good-night he turned a little in his sleep and smiled.
XXX
EDEN IN THE ATTIC
I sometimes wonder what the other guests thought of our behaviour at breakfast the next morning. Uncle was simply ridiculously happy, even boisterously so. And he wouldn't hear to any dissent from the project that possessed his mind. We must all go South with him, and that was the end of it. He and Aunt Agnes had never had a difference in all their married life, he said, but the trouble would begin right there if he went back without us! And he settled the whole thing an hour later by suddenly appearing, after a very mysterious absence, and flaunting in our faces the tickets for the entire party. They were taken via the Old Dominion Line; and the little sea voyage would be the very thing for all of us,—and Harold had assured him that a release from his company could be easily arranged. So Gordon left it to me again—and I left it to Harold, and Harold elected to see his mother's old Virginia home. Dorothy lent loud approval.
Thirty-six hours later we were in the dear old Southern town, driving from the old familiar station along the old familiar street. My heart was full; its burden was partly sadness, altogether song.