"Music is a great solace to me," said the lady. "It has been well observed that hymns are like wings,—they bear us up towards heaven."
"Is that hymn printed in any collection?" asked Robin.
"Scarcely could it be so," replied Mrs. Evendale, with a faint smile, "as it was the outcome of a sleepless hour last night."
"And the air also?" asked young Hartley.
"No; the simple air is one which I learned in childhood from my grandmother. She was of Italian birth, and sang what the Tuscan peasants sing."
"Might I ask you to sing again, and let my brother listen also?" said Robin, as Miss Petty and Harold approached. Shelah was kneeling on a bench at a little distance, looking at bits of brown sea-weed floating below in the sea.
Mrs. Evendale made room on her bench for Miss Petty, and again softly began to sing. But this time the lady chose a well-known English hymn in which the Hartleys could join. Theresa Petty would greatly have preferred gossip, in which she herself was an adept, for the most soul-elevating hymn could not lift her spirit from earth.
Instead of listening, Miss Petty sat watching the movements of Shelah, and before the first verse of the hymn was finished, the guardian started up with almost a scream.
"Oh! The mischievous minx! If she has not thrown her own hat overboard!"
"It's my boat; see how it floats!" cried Shelah, clapping her hands.