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Updated: May 11, 2025
Soft falls his chant as on the nest Beneath the sunny zone, For love that stirred it in his breast Has not aweary grown, And 'neath the city's shade can keep The well of music clear and deep. And love that keeps the music, fills With pastorial memories. All echoing from out the hills, All droppings from the skies, All flowings from the wave and wind Remembered in the chant I find.
The six sandwiches were five cents, the cup of coffee five, and the little "drop cakes," sweet and spicy, were two for five. Every man spent fifteen cents, some of them more; and many took away small cakes in paper bags, if there were any left. "I don't see how you can do it, and make a profit," urged Mr. Eltwood, making a pastorial call. "They are so good you know!" Diantha smiled cheerfully.
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