"I don't see what on 'arth!" she went on. "Half the time you might
ransack Wallencamp from top to bottom, and you'd find everybody a'most
somewhere, and nobody to hum! It ain't much like the cake Silvy made last
week--she's crazier than ever--'Where's the raisins, Silvy?' says I--I
always make it chock full of 'em, and there wasn't one,--'Oh,' says
Silvy, 'I mixed 'em up so thorough you can't a hardly find 'em.' 'I guess
that's jest about the way the Lord put the idees into your head, Silvy,'
says I. 'Bless the Lord!' says that poor fool, as slow and solemn as a
minister."
"We've been a singing" interposed Grandma Keeler in a voice that
contrasted with Emily's, like the flow of a great calm river with the
impatient fall of a cataract. "It seems a' most as though I'd been in
Heaven. They was jest a singin'--'The Light of the World is Jesus,' I
shall never forgit, when I was down to camp-meetin' to Marthy's Vin'yard
a good while ago--there was a little blind boy stood up on a bench and
sung it all alone; and it made me cry to see him standin' there with his
poor little white face, and eyes that couldn't see a' one of all the
faces lookin' up to him, a singin' that out as bold and free, and he did
pronounce the words so beautiful so as everybody could hear--I can hear
him a singin' of it out, now--'The Light of the World is Jesus.
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