Shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies;
Heaven’s morn—ing breaks, and earth’s vain shadows flee!
In life, in death, O Lord, a—bide with me!”
The room was silent. The little singer leaned back in weariness. Blue, with a glance toward Doodles, bent nearer the cot. The woman lay as if sleeping, though not a flicker stirred the covers. Blue’s face took on a look of awe, and noiselessly he stepped to his brother’s side.
“We’d better go upstairs now, you’re getting tired.”
“She may want me to sing again,” he objected.
“No, she won’t. She’s fast asleep.”
Doodles looked across at her.
“Well,” he yielded, putting his arms around his brother’s neck.
Mrs. Stickney had not returned, the sun was low, and the kitchen was growing shadowy; but the warmth felt grateful after the chill of the room downstairs.