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She fell on her knees in an exalted, jubilate spirit. She was more like a Praise-the-Lord psalm of David than like a young girl of the nineteenth century. And yet close behind her, a little to the left, was Bero on his knees too, at his pater nosters. By and by the music began.
"Ah, Israel's right there!" came from my grandfather. "But every light has its shadow, and he's made a failure of it with Dick Wilkes, and may do the like with my wife, Bridget. "For Bridget, she will be for ever crying at me these days, 'Here, you Tabernacle man, have you split the kindling wood? Or 'No praise-the-Lord for you, lad, till your day's work is done!
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