Gadsby

<h2><SPAN class="pagenum" name="Page_260" title="260"> </SPAN> <SPAN name="XLII" id="XLII"></SPAN>XLII</h2> <p class="indent"><span class="smcap">Lady Gadsby and His</span> Honor sat in Branton Hills' First Church, on a hot July Sunday. Out-doors, twitting birds, lacy clouds, and gay blossoms, told of happy hours in this long, bright month. Pastor Brown, announcing a hymn, said:&mdash;</p> <p>"This is a charming hymn. Our choir always sings it without company; but today, I want <em>all</em> you good folks to join in. Just pour forth your joy and sing it, good and strongly."</p> <p>That hymn had six stanzas; and Gadsby, noting an actually <em>grand</em> bass singing just back of him, thought of turning around, from curiosity; and as that fifth stanza was starting, said to Lady Gadsby:&mdash;</p> <p>"Do you know who that is, singing that grand bass part?"</p> <p>Lady Gadsby didn't; but Lady Gadsby was a woman; and, from Noah's Ark to Branton Hills' First Church, woman, as a branch of Mankind, was curious. So a slow casual turning brought a dig in His Honor's ribs:&mdash;</p> <p>"It's Norman Antor!"</p> <p>Pastor Brown, standing at that big church<SPAN class="pagenum" name="Page_261" title="261"> </SPAN> door as folks, filing out would stop for a word or two, said to Gadsby:&mdash;</p> <p>"Young Antor is invariably in church, now-a-days. I may add to my choir, and am thinking of putting him in it. I'm so glad to find out about that boy winning his fight. I always <em>thought</em> Norman would turn out all right."</p> <p>Pastor Brown was right; and two Branton Hills girls, a Salvation Army lady, and a tiny tot of six had won crowns of Glory, from throwing rays of light into two badly stagnant Minds.</p> <div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />