Ellen ran out upon the moonlit grass plot where intricate shadows were swaying. She said something in a low tone to Jeremy, and he tuned his violin anew. Then upon the quiet night arose Ellen’s sweet, fresh voice in the song her mother loved, Schumann’s “Moonlight.”
“That was well done,” said Mr. Todd as the last note died away. “When you are a little older, your voice should be cultivated, Ellen.”
Ellen shook her head. “We can’t talk about that now. I think Cousin Rindy has had a perfectly fine birthday, don’t you, Mr. Todd? And it was so dear of you to finish it up with the lovely music, like a good-night blessing, wasn’t it? I am sure Cousin Rindy enjoyed it, though she may not say so, and I’m not quite sure that she would understand ‘Moonlight.’ I felt that I must sing it—for Mother. On this lovely night she seems so near.”
“I think she is,” responded Mr. Todd. “The music was for you, Ellen, as much as for Miss Rindy.”
“I knew that as soon as you began. I must go in. Cousin Rindy will think I am crazy to stay out so long. Good-night, and thank you, thank you, thank you for the serenade.”
She ran in to find Miss Rindy had arisen from her knees and was taking down her hair and preparing for bed.
“Did you ever have a serenade before?” asked Ellen. “How did you like it?”
“Oh, pretty well. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard Jeremy scraping on his fiddle. You’ve got a right pretty voice, Ellen, but I can’t say there was much tune to the thing you sang. What was it?”
“It is called ‘Moonlight,’ and this seemed just the time to sing it. Mother loved it. I thought she’d like me to sing it for you on your birthday.”
“Maybe so, maybe so. Well, Ellen, it’s high time you were in bed. Trot along.” Then she took the girl in her arms and gave her a warm kiss, a most unusual thing for Rindy Crump to do.