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Updated: June 10, 2025
A moment later, though he held no notes to follow, his beautiful voice rang out loud and clear and in full harmony with the other singers. When the service was over, there was a crowd lingering in the aisles, praising and admiring the beautiful picture and the new carol; but Johanson was soon alone in the poorhouse, with "Hosanna! hosanna!" in his heart.
"Yes, we could expect something like that from our walking dictionary," said Ernestine Johanson. "But whatever we call ourselves, I am ready to vote aye. Come on with your or Mrs. Hutchins and her lawyers' plan, Katherine. I'm impatient to hear the rest of it."
I shall go and look him up. Have you any whisky? You have, I know. I saw Gull bring you in a bottle last night. Let me have it, will you?" "Yes; a pull will keep you up," was the answer. "I don't want it for me," said Johanson hastily; "it has pulled me down low enough. I'll never taste it again. But that poor fellow, he may need it, if I find him."
"I suppose the person who did that was the one who threw a stone into our bonfire and hooted our watchword so hideously." "What shall we do?" Violet Munday questioned. "We can't let this sort of thing go on indefinitely." "We must complain to the authorities," Ernestine Johanson suggested. "Do you suppose they would do anything?" Estelle Adler asked.
The pastor's wife was bowed low with new food for prayer and thanksgiving. Little Elsa moved quickly from her mother's side up the aisle, and to the astonishment and almost horror of the congregation she knelt by Johanson, her little head not appearing above the railing; but she held fast to his left hand.
Many of them were linked with old familiar sacred words; for others, some master-poet must be warmed to write their language in glowing verse. "The white-haired pauper," as Johanson was called throughout the whole country, had his satisfaction in his life-long incognito.
He did not seem to be a reader, but the objectionable little book with the gilt edges came out at a regular hour each day, and for five minutes at least had his full attention, without offensive interruption. On the whole, the poorhouse had become for Johanson a peaceful and in a measure a comfortable home.
Papa has been sorrowful lately, but he really looked to-day like mamma when she is the happiest." The child had found Johanson bowed, sitting with his head in his hands, while his thoughts were far back in his sinful, sorrowful past. He had felt as if he had hardly a right to welcome the day when the Saviour was born. Now his face beamed with joy; but he only said, "I am glad you are all so happy.
Have you been out in a blizzard, with no house within miles?" "No, no, no!" was the threefold reply. "I've tried them all," said Johanson, "and I am not afraid of a little snow. Lend me your stick, and I'm off." Off he was, but not to return through the long morning. Towards noon, a party who had been out with a snow-plough and a sledge came back, bearing two bodies carefully covered.
One of these places is occupied by an old man who has been a hard drinker; you would have to share the room with him. Would you be contented with that arrangement?" "Contented and grateful," said the stranger. His name was given as "A. Johanson," and was so registered in the pastor's note-book.
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