"
I had heard very little chorus-singing of any kind; and I did not then
know that for the best I had heard--that of St. George's choir at
Windsor--voices were systematically imported from this particular
district. My experience of village singing was confined to the thin
nasal unison psalmody of our school children, and an occasional rustic
stave from a farmer at an agricultural dinner. Great, then, was my
astonishment when the little group broke into the four-part harmony of
a fine chorale. One rarely hears such voices. Betty had a grand
soprano, and on the edge of the group stood a little lad singing like
a bird, in an alto of such sweet pathos as would have made him famous
in any cathedral choir.
Mr. Jonathan's head drooped lower and lower. Affecting as the hymn was
in my ears, it had for him, no doubt, associations I could not share.
My father moved near him, with an impulse of respectful sympathy.
To me that one rich voice of harmony spoke as the voice of my old
teacher; and I longed to cry to him in return, "I have made up my
mind. It _is_ worth trying for! It is 'worth any effort, any
struggle.' Our eternal home!"
CHAPTER XXVII
THE NEW RECTOR--AUNT MARIA TRIES TO FIND HIM A WIFE--MY FATHER HAS A
SIMILAR CARE FOR ME
The stone that marks the burying-place of the Andrewes family taught
me the secret of the special love the Rector bore me.
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