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Then, without waiting for her to answer, he added: "Is it, you hear him say so, as I hear you singin' in my sleep sometimes singin', singin', as you did at Glencader, that first time I ever 'eerd you? Is it the same as me in my sleep?" "Yes, it is like that just like that," she answered, taking his hand, and holding it with a motherly tenderness. "Ain't you never goin' to sing again?" he added.
"Yes, it is Heaven, and love is the bridge that you cross on, and when you git across you can't always be singin' the weddin'-march but afterwards well, you can hum a lullaby. "Now we're comin' to the house" as they turned into the drive "and I jest want to say this, dear " She took Daphne's face in her two hands and looked into her eyes.
I was makin' her a cup o' tea one day, and the kittle was bubblin' and singin', and she begun to laugh, and says she, 'Jane, do you hear that sparrer chirpin' in the peach tree there by the window? Says she, 'I never hear a sparrer chirpin' and a kittle b'ilin', that I don't think o' the dinner Mary Andrews had the day Judge McGowan spoke at the big barbecue. Says she, 'Mary's dead, and Harvey's dead, and I reckon there ain't any harm in speakin' of it now. And then she told me the story I'm tellin' you.
I'm always glad when you go up-town with the neighbor women of a Saturday evening. I'd be glad if you'd have 'em in here now and then for a little sociability. Have 'em. Play the graphophone for 'em. Sing. You 'ain't done nothin' with your singin' since you give up choir." "Neighbor women! Old maids' choir! That's fine excitement for a girl not yet twenty-seven!"
Teddy Flynn used to say to me, says he: 'Niver born to know distress! Happy as worms in a garden av cucumbers. Seventeen years in this country, Mary, says he, 'an' nivir in the pinitintiary yet. There y'are. Ah, the birds do be singin' to-day! 'Tis good!
But you know how it is, Si Ann, in the berry lot now if there are bushes hangin' full of big ones jest over the fence and somebody else is gittin' 'em all, you kinder want to jine in and git some on 'em yourself, though you may be a perfesser and singin' a Sam tune at the time, specially if the fence is broke down that separates you.
But he were grandest i' th' choruses, waggin' his head, flinging his arms round like a windmill, and singin' hisself black in the face. A rare singer were Jesse.
Seems he likes your company, from what he says. But you can't take him serious. He'll be singin' that everlastin' trail song of his next." "He hasn't sung much, recently." Cheyenne bridled and snorted like a colt. "Huh! Just try this on your piano." And seemingly improvising, he waved his arm toward the burro corral.
"Now," said he, "there was an ould Irish air that Peggy used to sing for me I thought I heard her often singin' it of late did I?" "I suppose so, darlin'," replied his mother; "I suppose you did." "Mary, here," he proceeded, "sings it; I would like to hear it before I go; it's the air of Gra Gal Machree." "Before you go, alanna!" exclaimed his father, pressing him tenderly to his breast.
Oh dear! What can the matter be? Johnnie's so long at the Fair!" At the sound of this complaint, delivered in a manly voice, the listener's jaw dropped, and his mouth opened and stayed open. "Him!" he muttered, faintly. "Singin'!" "Well, the old Triangle knew the music of our tread; How the peaceful Seminole would tremble in his bed!" sang the editor.
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