Tom began to hum over the tune uneasily, in his deep bass.

A sudden sob broke into it.
[Illustration] "This is what makes it all so different." "What, dear ?" "The singing, and the prayers, and the Sunday nights; it's been making me think about being a good girl, ever since I've been here.

We never had any at home.

Father--" But she did not finish.

She rose and went over to the western window, away from the rest, where no one could see her face.
The light was dimming fast; it was nearly dark now, and the crickets were chirping in the distant meadows.
Tom coughed, and came very near trying to whistle.