Such were the doctor's thoughts. But hark! Whose voice was that? The
congregation seemed to hold their breath as the glorious singer warbled
forth the bird-like strain, "Thou that takest away the sins of the
world." She sang those words as if she felt them every one, and Dr.
Richards' heart thrilled with an indefinable emotion us he listened.
"Thou that sittest on the right hand of God the Father;" how rich and
full her voice as she sang that alone; and when the final Amen was
reached, and the grand old chant was ended, Dr. Richards sat like one
entranced, straining his ear to catch the last faint echo of the
sweetest music he had ever heard.
Could Alice sing like that, and who was this nightingale? How he wished
he knew; and when next the people arose, obedient to the organ's call,
he was of their number, and turning full about, looked up into the
gallery, starting as he looked, and half uttering an exclamation of
surprise. There was no mistaking the Russian sable fur, the wide blue
ribbons thrown so gracefully back, the wealth of sunny hair, or the
lustrous eyes, which swept for an instant over the congregation below,
taking in him with the rest, and then were dropped upon the keys, where
the snowy, ungloved hands were straying. The organist was Alice Johnson!
There were no more regrets now that he had come to church, no more
longings to be away, no more maledictions against Mr. Howard's drawling
manner, no more invectives against the poor old woman, listening like
himself with rapt attention, and wondering if the music of heaven could
be sweeter than that her bonny Alice made. The doctor, too, felt better
for such music, and he never remembered having been more attentive to a
sermon in his life than to the one, which followed the evening service.
When it was ended, and the people dismissed, she came tripping down the
stairs, flooding the dingy vestibule with a world of sunshine.
"Here, Aunt Densie, here I am. Martin is waiting for us," the doctor
heard her say to the old lady, who was elbowing her way through the
crowd, and who at last came to a standstill, apparently looking for
something she could not find. "What is it, auntie?" Alice said again.
"Lost something, have you? I'll be with you in a minute."
Two hours ago, and Dr. Richards would not have cared if fifty old women
had lost their entire wardrobe. As an attache of some kind to Alice
Johnson, Densie was an object of importance, and stepping forward, just
as Alice had made her way to the distressed old lady's side, he very
politely offered to assist in the search.
"Ah, Dr. Richards, thank you," Alice said, as the black kid was found,
and passed to its anxious owner.