It seemed to come from his heart, drawn forth by the grateful enjoyment of that sweet Whitsun hour.
Cherry held up her finger as a ring-dove began to coo from the thicket, making fit answer to one thus resting in the Feast of the Comforter; Theodore cooed in return, and the bird seemed to be replying. Even the tumult of pain and grief in Lance's breast was soothed by the spirit of the words and scene, while he felt the contrast, like an abyss, between himself and the others.
But when the rest of the party came gaily back with talk and laughter, inaction had become intolerable to him. He wanted to take Angela's oar, but she would not hear of giving it up, and Felix resigned his, while Cherry owned that she preferred having him at the helm when going down the river.
Theodore, with a shout, held out his hands for Stella's flowers, and she gave the whole into his hands, Charlie for a moment looking disappointed; but as the twins sat together, and the little fellow drew out the flowers singly and dropped them into his sister's lap, while she whispered their names, it was evidently perfect joy to both. Some, such as the bright spires of broom, he greeted with a snatch of nursery song, though otherwise the pair were scarcely audible as long as the nosegay lasted, and that was for a long time; but when Stella had made it up again, only leaving the broom to him, he returned to his usual hum, and this time with the tune of 'The strain upraise,' which had been practised that morning for Trinity Sunday, and which met the sound of the bells ringing for Evensong.
'That's rather too much!' exclaimed Angela. 'We shall be taken for some of the pious, a singing of hymns.—Come, Tedo.'
'No, no,' said Felix, 'I'll not have him interfered with.' And he hummed the tune.
'That's always the way when Baby goes out with us,' muttered Angela, audaciously singing out at the top of her clear soprano—
'Six o'clock is striking,
Mother, may I go out?
My young man is waiting,
To take me all about.
First he gives me apples,
Then he gives me pears;
Then he gives me sixpence,
To take me round the fairs;'
thus effectually silencing both the others, the one from sense of discord, the other from serious displeasure. At that moment, shooting from behind the bend of the river where stood the Hook and Line, came the other boat. Excited probably by the song, the young men in it shouted 'Come on! Who'll be first! We'll take a couple of your sweethearts aboard, to make fair play! We'll have your nightingale!'
'Next he gives me bacon
And eggs to fry in the pan,
And no one there to eat them
But me and my young man.'