Grandpa and grandma weren't really unhappy,
either. Why, when people are not really unhappy at all, do their
eyes fill just of themselves?
And now was the moment of the great surprise at hand. Missy could
scarcely wait. It must be admitted that, during the interminable
time that grandpa was reading his chapter--it was even a longer
chapter than usual to-night--and while grandma was reading her
shorter one, Missy was not attending. She was repeating to herself
the Twenty-third Psalm. And even when they all knelt, grandpa beside
the big Morris chair and grandma beside the little willow rocker and
Missy beside the "patent rocker" with the prettiest crocheted tidy--
her thoughts were still in a divine channel exclusively her own.
But now, at last, came the time for that channel to be widened; she
closed her eyes tighter, clasped her hands together, and began:
"The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want, He maketh me to lie down
in green pastures; he leadeth me beside the still waters. . ."
How beautiful it was! Unconsciously her voice lifted--quavered--
lowered--lifted again, with "expression.
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