Laughter again resounds; our Quaker himself enters into the spirit of it, so I invite him to lead off with the "Queen" for his partner, at which he was dismayed, although he is a veritable son of Anak.
But to my dismay the bent and feeble septuagenarian offered to lead off with myself as partner, at which I collapsed, for alas, I cannot dance.

Then our trustee led the roars of laughter that testified to my discomfiture.
So we had no dancing, only a cakewalk.

But we had more merriment and music, and then our little evening service.

"What hymn shall we have ?" Many voices called out, "Sun of my soul," so the matron went to the piano, and I listened while they sang "Watch by the sick, enrich the poor," which for me, whenever the poor, the feeble and aged sing it, has a power and a meaning that I never realise when the organ leads a well-trained choir and a respectable church congregation to blend their voices.
Then I read to them a few words from the old, but ever new, Book, and closed with a few simple, well-known prayers, and then--as old Pepys has it--"to bed." We watch them file up the great staircase one by one, watch them disappear into their sweet little rooms and clean sheets.

To me, at any rate, the picture was more comforting and suggestive than Burne Jones's "Golden Stairs." In fifteen minutes the electric light was switched off, and Singholm was in darkness and in peace.