Yet he wore always, except when alone, a not unpleasant little effort of a smile, as if he would conceal his pain.

But this deceived few.

The women of the settlement had come to call him "the little man of sorrows." Even his wife, Lorena, had divined that his mind was not one with hers; that, somehow, there was a gulf between them which her best-meant cheerfulness could not span.

In a measure she had ceased to try, doing little more than to sing, when he was near, some hymn which she considered suitable to his condition.

One favourite at such times began:-- "Lord, we are vile, conceived in sin, And born unholy and unclean; Sprung from the man whose guilty fall Corrupts his race and taints us all.
"Soon as we draw our infant breath, The seeds of sin grow up for death; The law demands a perfect heart, But we're defiled in every part." She would sing many verses of this with appealing unction, so long as he was near; yet when he came upon her unawares he might hear her voicing some cheerful, secular ballad, like-- "As I went down to Coffey's mills Some pleasure for to see, I fell in love with a railroad-er, He fell in love with me." The stolid Christina listened entranced to all of Lorena's songs, charmed by the melody not less than she was awed by her sister-wife's superior gifts of language.