The aunts were kind in their grown-up crinolined way. But Ernest wanted some one to play with. Every night in his dreams he played with the marble child. And at church on Sunday the marble child still held out its hands, farther than before.
'Come along then,' Ernest said to it, in that voice with which heart speaks to heart; 'come and sit with me behind the red curtains. Come!'
The marble child did not look at him. Its head seemed to be bent farther forward than ever before.
When it came to the second hymn Ernest had an inspiration. All the rest of the churchful, sleepy and suitable, were singing,—
| 'The roseate hues of early dawn, |
| The brightness of the day, |
| The crimson of the sunset sky, |
| How fast they fade away.' |
Ernest turned his head towards the marble child and softly mouthed,—you could hardly call it singing,—
| 'The rosy tews of early dawn, |
| The brightness of the day; |
| Come out, come out, come out, come out, |
| Come out with me and play.' |
And he pictured the rapture of that moment when the marble child should respond to this appeal, creep out from under the font, and come and sit beside him on the red cushions beyond the red curtains. The aunts would not see, of course. They never saw the things that mattered. No one would see except Ernest. He looked hard at the marble child.
'You must come out,' he said; and again, 'You must come, you must.'