choir

And the choir are going to sing four lovely pathetic songs that are pretty near as good as hymns.

When Prissy Andrews, attired in a new pink-silk waist with a string of pearls about her smooth white throat and real carnations in her hair--rumor whispered that the master had sent all the way to town for them for her--“climbed the slimy ladder, dark without one ray of light,” Anne shivered in luxurious sympathy; when the choir sang “Far Above the Gentle Daisies” Anne gazed at the ceiling as if it were frescoed with angels; when Sam Sloane proceeded to explain and illustrate “How Sockery Set a Hen” Anne laughed until people sitting near her laughed too, more out of sympathy with her than with amusement at a selection that was rather threadbare even in Avonlea; and when Mr.

Allan says I have a good voice and she says I must sing in the Sunday-school choir after this.

I’ve longed so to sing in the Sunday-school choir, as Diana does, but I feared it was an honor I could never aspire to.