[PIKE stands in arrested attitude, not having looked at the letter. The song, beginning faintly, grows louder, then slowly dies away in the distance. The two stand listening in deepening twilight.]
PIKE
[as the voices cease to be heard]
It's mighty pretty, but it's kind of foreign and lonesome, too.
[With a sad half-chuckle.]
I'd rather hear something that sounded more like home.
[A growing tremulousness in his voice.]
I expect you've about forgot everything like that, haven't you?
ETHEL
[gently]