"I shall enjoy reading it again myself," remarked Quincy, as he proceeded to comply with Alice's pleasantly worded request.
REFRAIN:
There is no place like home, they say,
No matter where it be;
The lordly mansion of the rich,
The hut of poverty.
The little cot, the tenement,
The white-winged ship at sea;
The heart will always seek its home,
Wherever it may be.
CHORUS:
Sweet, sweet home!
To that sweet place where youth was passed our thoughts will turn;
Sweet, sweet home!
Will send the blood to flaming face, and hearts will burn.
"Of course you know that lovely song, 'Juanita'?" said Alice.
"Certainly," said Quincy, and he sang the first line of the chorus.
Alice's voice joined in with his, and they finished the chorus together. A thrill went through Quincy as he sang the last line, and he was conscious that his voice quivered when he came to the words, "Be my own fair bride."
"You sing with great expression," said Alice, "If you like these new words that I have written to that old melody we can sing them together. I have called it Loved Days. I think this is the one," she said, as she passed him several small sheets pinned together.