And, by this, "the boarders" had assembled, and we found ourselves at breakfast in a cheery company of three workmen, who were as bright and full of fun as boys out for a holiday.

They were presently joined by a fourth, a hearty, middle-aged man, who, as he sat down, greeted us with: "I feel just like singing this morning." "Good for you!" said one of us.

"That's the way to begin the day." His good nature was magnetic.
"Yes," he laughed, "we sing in Sheldon from morning till night." "Sheldon's evidently a good place to know," I said.

"I will make a note of that for New Yorkers." So, reader, sometimes when the world seems all wrong, and life a very doubtful speculation, you may care to know of a place where the days go so blithely that men actually sing from morning till night! Sheldon Center is that place.

You can find it on any map, and I can testify that the news is true.
And the men that thus sang from morning till night--what was the trade they worked and sang at?
We gathered from a few dropped words that they were engaged on some work over at the church--masonry, no doubt--and, as they left the breakfast-table, in a laughing knot, to begin the day's work, they suggested our giving a look in at them on our way.