All the time he was praying, grandmother
watched him through the black fingers of her
glove, and when he said "Amen," I thought
she looked satisfied with him. She turned
to Otto and whispered, "Can't you start a
hymn, Fuchs? It would seem less heathenish."

Fuchs glanced about to see if there was gen-
eral approval of her suggestion, then began,
"Jesus, Lover of my Soul," and all the men
and women took it up after him. Whenever I
have heard the hymn since, it has made me
remember that white waste and the little
group of people; and the bluish air, full of fine,
eddying snow, like long veils flying: --

/tab\/tab\"While the nearer waters roll,/tab\/tab\
/tab\/tab\ While the tempest still is high."/tab\/tab\
/tab\/tab\ * * */tab\/tab\

Years afterward, when the open-grazing
days were over, and the red grass had been
ploughed under and under until it had almost
disappeared from the prairie; when all the
fields were under fence, and the roads no
longer ran about like wild things, but followed
the surveyed section-lines, Mr. Shimerda's
grave was still there, with a sagging wire fence
around it, and an unpainted wooden cross.

[[135]]

p134 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p135w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p136

v?