so there he 'd be , rolling up and down first street , singing with a voice so beautiful some said god had kept it from his favorite angels so as not to encourage covetousness in their ranks entire , and deacon broscious would clap his hands , and his face would bead with sweat and his smile would become the size and shine of a trout , and folks would forget for a moment who he was , until one of them remembered because he owed the deacon something , and that one , he 'd get to see behind the sweat and smile and the singing and what he saw there left an imprint on children he had n't even sired yet .