And after her peculiar manner, in the midst of security, although her life from her infancy had been filled with the seeds of wonder, she asked:
“How is your horse called?”
“As he looks.”
“That will not do; we must give him another name. Do you know what? Silver Trot.”
And now to the tune they had danced together, John sang over and over again the one word “Silver-trot, silver-trot, silver-trot!” Barefoot sang it with him, and when they no longer sang words that had any meaning, their merriment was pure, full, unlimited; they expressed their inward joy by outward jubilee, by joddling together, for there are bell-tones in the soul that have no connected melody, but include in themselves every sound of joy; and hover here and there, over and above us, and rock together the hearts of the living. Again they found words. John sang,—
“My treasure is mine,
I hold it as firmly
As the tree holds its branch,
As the apple its kernel.”
Then they sang in low, deep tones, this serious song,—