CHAPTER XII
LETTY SINGS A LULLABY
After the lemonade had all been drunk and most of the cakes eaten—fornot even Christopher’s best efforts could quite empty the manyplates—Letty offered to go back to her storytelling. She sat down on thegrass with her back against a tree trunk and the twins curled themselvesup contentedly on each side. Little Anna Parsons sat silent at her feet.
“Why are your stories always about people or fairies who singbeautifully?” asked Christopher unexpectedly, after Letty had relatedtwo or three tales of her own invention. “Do you sing, Letty?”
“I should like to. Oh, how I should like to!” sighed Letty, clasping herhands.
“Sing something to us now,” commanded Jane.
“I only know one or two songs,” replied Letty shyly, “and they are oldsongs. I think you children must know them already. I was never taughtto sing,” she added quickly.
“Neither were we, except in Sunday-school, but we’ll sing for you, ifyou like,” said Christopher politely. “Sit up, Jane, and we’ll give her‘Onward, Christian Soldiers.’”
“I think Letty’d like ‘There’s a Work for Me and a Work for You’better,” objected Jane. “Her stories always have something about doingthings in them.”
“Well, don’t the Christian Soldiers do things? They conquer the worldand all that sort of thing. I like that song because you can make such ajolly lot of noise over it. It’s a regular shouter.”
“Boys always like to make a noise,” said Jane to Letty with anapologetic air. “But they are not the nicest kind of songs. I likelullabies and such things. Letty, don’t you know a lullaby? I guess youused to have to sing them to Mrs. Drake’s baby, didn’t you?”
Tears filled Letty’s eyes at the memory Jane’s words called up, of thecuddly, drowsy baby she had hushed to sleep so often.
“Yes, I used to sing Mrs. Drake’s baby to sleep. Shall I sing you thatsong?” she asked.
Once, on the memorable occasion of which she had told Mrs.Hartwell-Jones, Letty’s brother had taken her to a concert. One of thesongs was DeKoven’s “Winter Lullaby.” The soft, crooning cadence of thesong had thrilled Letty’s heart and she had listened with rapture. Thesong had been repeated in response to an encore and so, by carefulattention, she had managed to memorize the words of the two verses. Shesang it now to the children and as she began, grandmother and Mrs.Hartwell-Jones suddenly ceased their talk and sat listening.
A WINTER LULLABY
“The valley is going to sleep, the birds in their nest are still And the maple branches bend and break, over the leafless hill: And the pitying sky looks down, and whispers to the snow, Let us cover the hills so bare and brown, where the flowers used to grow; And she croons a lullaby, through the hush of the storm— Sleep, sleep in your cradle deep, sleep, sleep in your cradle deep And I will keep you warm, so sleep, sleep, sleep!
“The valley is going to wake, the birds in their nest will sing And the maple branches bud and break, into the leaves of spring, And the gleaming vale shall hear another lullaby, And zephyrs will whisper it into her ear, out of the heart of the sky: Another lullaby, tuned to the heart of the stream,— Wake, wake for your robin’s sake, wake, wake for your robin’s sake; And tell the sky your dream, so wake, wake, wake!”
When she had finished grandmother exclaimed in a low voice:
“Why, Mrs. Hartwell-Jones, how charming. What if you have discovered agenius!”
Tears came into Mrs. Hartwell-Jones’s eyes.
“So it seems to you, too, that she has a good voice?” she murmuredeagerly. “I have wondered, and am most impatient to take her to the cityto have her voice tried. I have heard her singing to herself now andthen and although I know nothing about voice culture, I thought one ortwo notes appeared to have an unusual quality. And, dear Mrs. Baker, Ishall never forget that it was really Jane who discovered Letty for me;her sweet kindliness for a ‘little sister in heaven.’ The child’s cominghas made a great difference in my life already.”
“What is the song all about?” demanded Christopher of Letty, sittingupright in his curiosity. “What was the dream?”
“I don’t know what the dream was, but——”
“Why don’t you know? There must have been some sort of a dream, becausethe song says, ‘and tell the sky your dream.’ And who was talking,anyway?”
“Why, the sky was talking to the earth, I think.”
“And did the whole earth dream? And why did the sky want the earth towake up and tell its dream to the sky? Why didn’t it say, ‘and tell meyour dream’? And why in the world don’t they tell what the dream is? Ithink it’s a silly song, anyhow.”
“Kit Baker, you are a rude boy!” exclaimed his sister indignantly. “Itisn’t a story, it’s a song. And songs don’t have to mean much, do they,Letty, as long as they are pretty.”
“Well, I think there ought to be another verse, telling the dream. Can’tyou make up another verse as you go along, Letty? Seems to me I justmust know what that dream was.”
“I guess there were lots and lots of dreams,” said Jane musingly. “Allthe flowers and birds dreamed. I could make up one dream; that an uglylittle flower dreamed it was a lovely pink tulip, all pale and wide-openand satiny.”
“Huh, I’d rather be a red one, with yellow streaks down the middle.They’re lots showier and they live longer, too. The gardener that wasputting our bulbs out last fall told me so.”
“But they’re beastly ugly. People don’t dream about being somethingugly, even if it is strong and healthy. I’d rather not live so long, ifI could only be so beautiful that people just had to stop and look atme. Wouldn’t you, Letty?”
“I don’t think looks matter so much,” said Letty practically, “if youkeep your soul all nice and clean inside you. Then it shines out throughyour eyes and your smiles and makes you beautiful that way. Evencripples are beautiful if their souls are clean. My Sunday-schoolteacher, dear Miss Reese, told me that once. She was beautiful—verybeautiful, and until then I had thought it was because she had nicewhite skin, pink cheeks, dimples and a pretty silk dress. But after shetold me that, I knew it was just her angel soul looking out through hereyes.”
“What color were her eyes?” asked Christopher. “And could cross-eyedpeople look beautiful? I don’t see how they could on the outside, evenif their souls were ever so clean.”
Grandmother and Mrs. Hartwell-Jones, who could not help overhearing thisconversation, smiled at each other. Just then Joshua drove up in thecarriage and everybody knew that it was time to go home.
“I understand that Sally has a birthday day after to-morrow,” said Mrs.Hartwell-Jones to Jane.
“Oh, yes, Mrs. Hartwell-Jones, she will be three years old,” repliedJane, with all the pride of a doting mamma. “Uncle Gus gave her to mewhen I lost my first tooth. The fairies gave me a big silver dollar forthe tooth, too. I wrapped it up in tissue-paper and put it under mypillow and they took it away in the night and left a shining silverdollar.”
“The blessed fairies! Now suppose you let me give Sally a birthdayparty? It would give Letty and me such pleasure to arrange it.”
Jane glowed with delight and accepted in both Sally’s name and her own,with alacrity. Christopher pricked up his ears. A doll’s birthday partydid not appeal to him, even with the inducement of the “party.” Whywould not that day be the very opportunity for his excursion with Billyand Jo Perkins?
“Please let the children come early, Mrs. Baker,” Mrs. Hartwell-Jonessaid to grandmother, “so that we may have a long afternoon together. Or,if you wish, Letty could drive out after them in the pony carriage.”
“Oh, thank you, I can send them quite easily. There is always some onedriving into the village. But are you sure that you want them again sosoon? You must not let them bother you.”
Grandmother did not want the twins to become a nuisance to any one,although in her secret heart of grandmother-hearts, she did not see
howany one could see too much of Jane or Christopher.
Christopher said his good-bye very politely but very briefly.
“Please, grandmother,” he said, “will you wait for me a minute? I’ve gotto speak to Bill Carpenter about some very important business.”
He bolted around the corner of the house and Jane’s lip quivered. Shefelt suddenly offended. What important business could Christopher havethat he had not confided to her?
After their guests had gone, Mrs. Hartwell-Jones drew Letty down to alow stool beside her chair and said:
“My dear, has any one ever told you that you sing very well?”
Letty flushed crimson with surprise and delight.
“Oh, do I?” she cried. “I’d rather be able to sing than anything in thiswide, wide world! It is so wonderful! But nobody ever told me I couldsing. I have never had any lessons, you know.”
“And did you never sing to any of your teachers, in school orSunday-school?”
“There was never any singing at school, except among a few of the biggergirls who took private lessons. And at Sunday-school I did not care forthe singing much. They sang ‘regular shouters’ as Kit calls them,” shelaughed.
“But sometimes in church—the church I told you about, where the littleboys sang—I used to join in a little, sometimes. Once they were singingsuch a beautiful hymn. It was in the afternoon when there were not verymany people in the church and the music was so lovely, all high andsweet and soft! I forgot for a minute where I was and sang out quiteloud. The organist turned right around and looked at me. It frightenedme terribly for I thought perhaps it was against the rules for any onebut the small boys to sing and that some one might come and put me out.Indeed, I was afraid to go to church again for three or four Sundays,and when I did I always kept at the back of the church and did not singagain. But it could not have been against the rule, for a great manypeople joined in the singing and the organist did not look at them atall.”
Mrs. Hartwell-Jones did not tell her, what was so evident to herself,that the organist had been attracted, not by the child’s loud singing,but by the quality of her voice.
“Would you like to take singing lessons when we go back to town?” sheasked presently.
“Oh, Mrs. Hartwell-Jones, would it be possible?”
“Not only possible, but it could be done very easily, my child. We shalltalk about it some other time. Now, I have some plans to suggest forSally’s birthday party. We must invite Anna Parsons and there must be acake.”
“With candles,” agreed Letty, bringing her mind away from the singingwith difficulty.
“I should like to make Sally a present, too,” went on Mrs.Hartwell-Jones. “Do you suppose we could buy a toy bed at the ‘store’?It would be nice to make a pretty bed for Sally to rest in when shecomes to spend the afternoon.”
“And I could make the bedclothes. I love to sew,” cried Letty. “Mymother taught me; hemming, overcasting—a great many things.”
“You must have had a very good, sweet mother, Letty.”
“Oh, yes!” breathed the girl, and her brown eyes filled suddenly withgreat tears.
The tears came to Mrs. Hartwell-Jones’s eyes, too, and she caught Lettyto her arms in a long, close embrace.
“You have no mother and I have no little girl!” she whispered brokenly.
That evening Mrs. Hartwell-Jones wrote a very long letter to the lawyerin the city who had always managed her business for her. She glancedoften at Letty as she wrote, but the little girl, busy over a puzzlingproblem in arithmetic, did not even dream of the wonderful ways in whichthat letter would change her life.