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 of music, and Naomi began again to pound the piano with an hysterical violence.

"Good-evening, Mrs. Phipps."

"Good-evening, Reverend Castor."

"I've been looking over the anthems for next Sunday."

"We haven't sung O the Golden, Glowing Morning for a long while."

"No . . . but that's an Easter hymn!"

"But we have sung it before on other occasions . . . it's so moving."

"What do you think, Mrs. Downes?"

Naomi stopped in the midst of her playing. "I think it would be fine. It's so full of joy."

One by one the others arrived. Each had his favorite, some song which he or she found moving. Naomi, troubled and unhappy, yielded to their choice. She was not, it was plain to be seen, to be a leader save in name alone. The eleven singers took their seats. There was a rustling of music and Naomi plunged noisily into:

The voices rang out loud and clear, filling the infants' classroom with a wild joy that seemed almost improper in so bare and chaste a place. They went on through a whole program of anthems and hymns, singing more and more loudly. At last, as the clock banged out eleven, the orgy of music came to an end, leaving them tired but happy, and filled with a strange excitement. At the piano, Naomi turned away to collect the