I paused as I tried to find appropriate words for the thought that, half-formed, was in my mind, gazing as I did so, as if to seek inspiration, at the boughs of the elms near, swaying and bowing slowly to and fro in the wind.
"What?" said Chris, impatiently tugging at my dress. "What?"
"'The voice of a soul that goeth home'," I said, as the great poet's words came to me in all their beauty.
CHAPTER IX.
THE GOLDEN FARTHING.
"It's the best thing; I should not propose it unless I were fully convinced that it is so."
Uncle Godfrey, standing on the hearth-rug in the drawing-room, his hands in his pockets, was speaking with his usual decision.
I, who had just entered, feeling that I was interrupting his conversation with Granny, turned to leave.