long been friends. There seemed to be no room for misunderstandings. Again and again Sinclair caught himself wondering if this were the same girl who had badgered him so unmercifully a few weeks before. Or was this present situation only a bright dream, from which he would awaken to find himself still the object of her badinage and laughter? "Well," he thought to himself, "dream or no dream, I'll enjoy it while it lasts and hope that I may be long in waking up.” But there were a few things which reminded him that it was not a dream. Mrs. MacAllister did not enter quite so heartily into sympathy with her daughter's mood as did Dr. Sinclair. Perhaps it was not to be expected. More than once she endeavoured to interject her disapproval of their choice of songs. "What are you going to sing next, Jessie?" she asked when three love songs had followed one another without a break. 66 6 'Robin Adair.”’ Mrs. MacAllister sniffed audibly. "I do not think much of your choice," she said tartly. 66 You like it, father, do you not?" "Oh, yes, Jessie! It suits me very well. Sing it." When it was sung Mrs. MacAllister returned to the attack: "Why do you not sing something lively instead of those lonesome pieces? It gives me a creepy feeling. Dr. Sinclair is just back from the war. Can you not sing him some fighting song, such as 'Bonnie Dundee' or 'Scots Wha Ha'e wi' Wallace Bled '?" "Mother, I do not feel like singing fighting songs this evening. We are likely to have fighting enough soon. But if Dr. Sinclair has become so bloodthirsty as a result of his service at the front, I'll try to satisfy him. Must you give vent to your feelings in a war-song, Dr. Sinclair?" A gleam of fun shot through the mock anxiety of her face. "Not at all, Miss MacAllister. I saw enough of glorious war to do me for a little while. The glory of it is mostly in the songs. There is little glory in the actuality. Anyway, I am enjoying myself too much as it is to take the chance of spoiling it by a change." Miss MacAllister answered by a warning shake of the head, the severity of which was disarmed by the accompanying smile. But her mother set her lips close together, elevated her nose, and sniffed very audibly. All unheeding, the young people chose another Scottish song, "Bonnie Charlie's Noo Awa." As the plaintive words and the wailing notes rang out, 66 Mony a heart will break in twa Should you ne'er come back again," Mr. MacAllister slipped out of the room into the verandah which looked over the river to the tall dark peak beyond. Then the lament of the chorus rose into a cry and died away in a sob: "Will ye no come back again? Will ye no come back again? Will ye no come back again?" Mrs. MacAllister rose and hurriedly followed her husband. A late moon was rising over the great bulk of the Taitoon range, shedding its pale light on the brim ming river, save where the houses of the town and the clustered junks cast long, dark shadows. Out in mid-stream the Locust swam on the mirror-like surface. The call of a night bird rang plaintively across the water. Within, the voices of the singers rose again in the last stanza: "Sweet's the lav'rock's note and lang; Liltin' wildly up the glen; But aye to me he sings ae sang, In the dark shadow of the deep verandah a man and woman, both middle-aged, pressed close to each other. His arm was around her waist. Her head was on his shoulder. As he caressed and soothed her his tears fell on her face and mingled with her own. It was not of a long-dead prince they were thinking. It was of a lost son of whom they did not know whether he was living or dead. The silver tones of the gunboat's bell rang out on the sweet night air, striking six times. Sinclair pulled out his watch with a look of incredulity: "Eleven o'clock! Miss MacAllister, I am ashamed of myself. I had no idea it was so late. I have been enjoying myself so much that this evening has passed like a dream." "I am glad that you have enjoyed it. The time has passed very quickly to me, too." "You do not know what pleasure it gives me to hear you say so. It has been to me the pleasantest evening of my life." She blushed at the implication, gave him the reward of a smile, and rose hurriedly from the piano: "Where are father and mother? I must find them to bid you good-bye." T XXII HALCYON DAYS HE next three days were to Dr. Sinclair a continuation of that evening's dream. They were full of incident. But what made them still more pleasant and memorable was the fact that he often met Miss MacAllister, and that she was uniformly kind and seemed to enjoy his company. It is true that after Saturday evening they did not again meet alone. But no matter how gay the company might be, nor how much chaffing and repartee was passing among them, she never reverted to the attitude she had adopted during the first week of their acquaintance. She did not try to make him feel uncomfortable, nor did she cause a laugh at his expense. On Sunday morning at nine o'clock there was a service in the little native church, a few rods from the hong of MacAllister, Munro Co. In addition to the local Christians there were many refugees present who had fled from their homes in the inland villages, having lost everything but their lives. The Communion of the Lord's Supper was observed, Dr. MacKay presiding, assisted by his missionary colleague and some of the oldest native preachers. Mr. MacAllister and his daughter, Dr. Sinclair, an engineer and a petty officer from the Locust, and one member of the customs staff sat with the wives of the missionaries and the native converts. The service was conducted in Chinese. Consequently the words were unintelligible to most of the foreigners present. Yet they were conscious of the tense feeling, the close and reverent attention, the spirit of prayer of the native worshippers. Once only did the officiating missionary use the English language. He was administering the wine, and spoke the words of a formula in Chinese. The audience had been silent and reverent before. Now the silence could be felt. He repeated it in English: "This cup is the new covenant in my blood, which is shed for many for the remission of sins: Drink ye all of it. It may be that many of you will drink no more of the fruit of the vine until that day when you drink it new in the Kingdom of God.'' When the service was over Sinclair walked slowly along the narrow street with Miss MacAllister and her father. For a time they were silent, as if each were letting the impression of it sink into the mind. Miss MacAllister was the first to speak. "I have never thought myself religious," she said. "I am afraid that I have been like so many others, a member of a church because it is customary and respectable. But if the spirit and atmosphere which were in that little Chinese church this morning prevailed in our big churches at home, I think I could be religious." "And "I am afraid that you are underestimating your own interest in religion," replied her father. perhaps you are mixing, just a little, reverent feelings and actually living as a Christian. They are very different things. But it is true that the spirit of worship I have found in many of those native churches has made the services of a considerable proportion of our home churches appear mere barren, lifeless formalism in comparison. The West may have again to learn |