For awhile he was delirious, but her presence had a soothing effect upon him.

He sometimes imagined that she was his mother, and he would tell her how he had missed her; and then at times he would call her sister.

Iola, tender and compassionate, humored his fancies, and would sing to him in low, sweet tones some of the hymns she had learned in her old home in Mississippi.

One day she sang a few verses of the hymn beginning with the words-- "Drooping souls no longer grieve, Heaven is propitious; If on Christ you do believe, You will find Him precious." "That," said he, looking earnestly into Iola's face, "was my mother's hymn.

I have not heard it for years.