But once his heart took fire and burned for a day sheer white, and in that day he wrote words that a nation sang, and now all the world is singing.

And they are proud of him, and when people come to Sycamore Ridge on pilgrimages to see the author of the song, men do not smile in wonder; they show the visitors his shop, and point out the bowed little man bending over his bench, stretching his arms out as he sews, and they point him out with pride.

Not even John Barclay with all his millions, or Bob Hendricks, who once refused a place in the President's cabinet, are more esteemed in Sycamore Ridge than the little harness maker who set the world to singing.
And curiously enough, John Barclay was with Watts McHurdie when he wrote the song.

They brought him an accordion one day while he was getting well, and the two sat together.

Watts droned along and shut his eyes and mumbled some words, and then burst out with the chorus.
Over and over he sang it and exclaimed between breaths: "Say--ain't that fine?
I just made it up." He was exalted with his performance, and some women came loitering down the corridor where the wounded man and the boy were lying.