Missy
listened to the chickens; regarded sky and flowers and green--
colours so lovely as to almost hurt you--and sniffed the fragrant
air. . . All this must be the house of the Lord! Here, surely
goodness and mercy would follow her all the days of her life.
Thus, slowly, the marvellous new feeling stole back and took
possession of her. She could no longer bear just sitting there
quiet, just feeling. She craved some sort of expression. So she rose
and moved slowly over the slick green grass, pausing by the blazing
nasturtium bed to pick a few vivid blossoms. These she pinned to her
dress; then went very leisurely on to the house-to the parlour--to
the piano--to "Asleep in Jesus."
She played it "with expression." Her soul now seemed to be flowing
out through her fingers and to the keyboard; the music came not from
the keyboard, really, but from her soul. Rapture!
But presently her mood was rudely interrupted by mother's voice at
the door.
"Missy, Aunt Nettie's lying down with a headache. I'm afraid the
piano disturbs her."
"All right, mother."
Lingeringly Missy closed the hymnal.
Pages:
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34