He bends forward and takes hold of each
tired traveller as soon as he is within reach, and helps him safe within
the gates; and in the hands that do this are "wound-prints." Jack always
shuts his eyes and lowers his voice when he tells us about this thought
of his; only Nannie and I know of it, and while I am hearing about it I
always feel quiet.
How he _does_ enjoy singing! His little body seems to expand, and you'd
be astonished at the noise that he can make. This particular Sunday that
I am telling you about my ears were fairly ringing as Jack joined in the
chorus of "Onward, Christian Soldiers," and I wasn't sorry when Phil
leaned over from behind and whispered, "Say, Rosebud, you're not
detailed to lead the choir, you know."
Even the choir-master looked at him; but, perfectly regardless of
everything and everybody, Jack sang through the five long verses, and
sat down with the air of having thoroughly enjoyed himself.
I made up my mind, though, that I'd say something about it on our way
home; but just as we were coming down the church steps Jack gave my arm
a nudge. "There are your friends," he said, with a grin,--"the two of
'em; just see Phil and Felix scoot!" And when I turned quickly to see,
who should it be but Mr.
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