you up, you nut! I thought you were good
for another two hours!"

But they went to church.

Tennelly sat down on the hard wooden bench and accepted the worn
hymn-book that a small urchin presented him, with an amused stare which
finally bloomed into a full grin at Courtland.

"What's eating you, you blooming idiot! Where in thunder did you rake up
this dump, anyway? If you've got to go to church, why in the name of all
that's a bore can't you pick out a place where the congregation take a
bath once a month whether they need it or not?" he whispered, in a loud
growl.

But Courtland's eyes were already fixed on the bright, intelligent face
and red hair of the man who stood behind the cheap little pulpit. He was
the same John Burns! A window just behind the platform, set with crude
red and blue and yellow lights of cheap glass, sent its radiance down,
upon his head, and the yellow bar lay across his hair like a halo;
behind him, in the colored lights, there seemed to stand the Presence.
It was so vivid to Courtland at first that he drew in his breath and
looked sharply at Tennelly, as if he, too, must see, though he knew
there was nothing visible, of course, but the lights, the glory, and the
little, freckled, earnest man giving out a hymn.

And the singing! If one were looking for discord, well, it was there,
every shade of it that the world had ever known! There were quavering
old voices, and piping young ones; off the key and on the key,
squeaking, grating, screaming, howling, with all their earnest might,
but the melody lifted itself in a great voice on high and seemed to bear
along the spirit of the congregation.

"I need Thee every hour.
Stay Thou near by;
Temptations lose their power
When Thou art nigh.
I need Thee, oh I, need Thee,
Every hour I need Thee;
O bless me now, my Saviour,
I come to Thee!"

These people, then, knew about the Presence, loved it, longed for it,
understood its power! They sang of the Presence a

The Witness

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