The stars were shining over her head and deep down beneath her.

The cool wind came fresh upon her cheek over the long grassy reaches.

No living thing moved in all the wide level circle which lay about her.

She had passed the Red Sea, and was alone in the Desert.
She threw down her oars, lifted her hands like a priestess, and her strong, sweet voice burst into song,--the song of the Jewish maiden when she went out before the chorus of, women and sang that grand solo, which we all remember in its ancient words, and in their modern paraphrase, "Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea! Jehovah hath triumphed, his people are free!" The poor child's repertory was limited to songs of the religious sort mainly, but there was a choice among these.

Her aunt's favorites, beside "China," already mentioned, were "Bangor," which the worthy old New England clergyman so admired that he actually had the down-east city called after it, and "Windsor," and "Funeral Hymn." But Myrtle was in no mood for these.