Looking, I saw in poor, wavering lines the words, "Dear Bill.

Go on with the opening.

Sing the Psalm, you know the one, and say a prayer, and oh, come to me quick, Bill.

Your Pilot." Bill gradually pulled himself together, announced in a strange voice, "The Pilot can't come," handed me the Psalm, and said: "Make them sing." It was that grand Psalm for all hill peoples, "I to the hills will lift mine eyes," and with wondering faces they sang the strong, steadying words.

After the Psalm was over the people sat and waited, Bill looked at the Hon.