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I crawled back to my cushion on the hearth. For a little while there was nothing said. The old chair crooned a comforting lullaby of creakity-creak, creakity-creak, as the doctor rocked back and forth, with the boy's curly head on his shoulder.
I have known her to bring an Indian baby a hundred miles, and some of these I have seen die in her arms, while she crooned to them a song of Heaven. And five times as many little ones she has saved, M'sieur. That is why even the winds in the treetops whisper her name, L'Ange! Does it not seem to you that even the moon shines brighter here upon these little mounds and the crosses?"
As the men came nearer they came slower, till they crept up to the fire where it smouldered, and sat round it, silent and uneasy, as the sun sank out of sight and the moon came up, while the old man crooned his dirge. The white light of the moon showed over the trees, throwing into profound shade all else, save where the glow of the fire showed red.
Flashing jewels, robes of state, maids of honor " "These things," spurned Diane with beautiful insolence, "I may buy with gold." "Ah!" crooned the wind, "but the vassalage of this elfin nation that plays at empire, the romance and adventure of an imperial court! And when the mad King dies and the Prince Regent, then Ronador will be king " "I have thought of it all.
He, a poor idiot, caged in his narrow cell, was as much lifted up to God, while gazing on the mild light, as the freest and most favoured man in all the spacious city; and in his ill-remembered prayer, and in the fragment of the childish hymn, with which he sung and crooned himself asleep, there breathed as true a spirit as ever studied homily expressed, or old cathedral arches echoed.
So they went by the sea margin, and the man piped the song of the morrow, and the leaves followed behind them as they went. Then they sat down together; and the sea beat on the terrace, and the gulls cried about the towers, and the wind crooned in the chimneys of the house.
He, too, was gone, and they felt that they were in the hands of the "smiling one" for whom their regard was chiefly inspired by fear. The little white Father was their remaining hope, and he was very, very old. So they set up their lamentations, surrounding them with all the rites of their race. The old women crooned their mystic tuneless dirges.
They set out for California, the fairyland of plenty, as they thought. At first California looked like any other state, but soon the children began naming their discoveries aloud. "Lookit! Oranges on trees!" "Roses! And those red Christmas flowers growing high as the garage!" "Palm trees like feather dusters stuck on telegraph poles!" "Little white houses and gardens!" crooned Grandma.
Occasionally they all crooned and wailed together, and at the passing of a cart all stood up defiantly, as if intending to hold their fort at all hazards. Presently a woman came out of a house-door opposite, at which the whole party ran furiously and breathlessly across the road, as if their lives depended upon arriving in time.
The eye of Sin Sin Wa glanced sideways at him. "Well, Sin Sin," said Sir Lucien, dropping a match and extinguishing it under his foot, "you see I am not smoking tonight." "No smokee," murmured the Chinaman. "Velly good stuff." "Yes, the stuff is all right, Sin." "Number one proper," crooned Sin Sin Wa, and relapsed into smiling silence. "Number one p'lice," croaked the raven sleepily.
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