"If you please, Uncle Bobo, let it be 'Tom Bowling.'"
Whereupon Mr. Boyd began to groan forth in not very dulcet tones the familiar song and strain, beginning—
"Here, a sheer-hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling."
Mr. Boyd's voice had not been very musical in youth, and now the sounds seemed to come more from his boots than from his lips. But Joy was a delighted listener. Then she followed with one of Mrs. Alexander's "hymns for little children," and as she sang, in her sweet childish treble, the words seemed to speak peace.
"On the dark hill's western side
The last purple gleam has died;
Twilight to one solemn hue
Changes all, both green and blue.
"In the fold and in the nest,
Birds and lambs are gone to rest;
Labour's weary task is o'er,
Closely shut the cottage door.
"Saviour, now in sweet repose
I my weary eyelids close,
While my mother through the gloom
Singeth from the outer room."
Joy paused, and putting her little hand in Mrs. Harrison's, said—
"I have never any mother but you, dear Goody; and I know she must be glad I've got you, as God took her away from me."
It was very seldom that Joy referred to her position in Uncle Bobo's house, and indeed very seldom that she thought of it. She had been told that she had been laid at Uncle Bobo's door as a Christmas gift, and that had been enough for her. But since she had been to Miss Bayliff's school there had arisen a question in her little mind as to why she had never known either father or mother—a question no one could answer.