“Never mind him now, Papa. He will keep. He can wait. But I do want you to sing! Dorothy, go take that chair on Papa’s other side; and here comes Number Eight with more rugs. Wouldn’t think it could be so cool, almost cold, would you, after that dreadful heat back there in New York? Now, sir, begin!” and the Judge’s adoring “domestic tyrant” patted his hand with great impatience.
“Very well, Miss Tease. Only it must be softly, so as not to disturb other people who may not have as great fancy for my warbling as you have.”
Mrs. Hungerford leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes in great content. Like his daughter she thought there was no sweeter singer anywhere than her beloved brother; but the too-correct Miss Isobel drew herself stiffly erect with an unspoken protest against this odd proceeding. She was quite sure that it wasn’t good form for anybody to sing in such a public place and under such circumstances. Least of all a Judge. A Judge of the Supreme Court! More than ever was she amazed when he began with a college song: “My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean,” in which Molly presently joined and, after a moment, Dorothy also.
But even her primness could not withstand the witchery of the gentleman’s superb tenor voice, with its high culture and feeling; because even into that humdrum refrain he put a pathos and longing which quite transformed it.
People sitting within hearing hitched their chairs nearer, but softly—not to disturb the singers; who sang on quietly, unconsciously, as if in their own private home. Drifting from one song to another, with little pauses between and always beginning by a suggestive note from Molly, the time passed unperceived.
Evidently, father and child had thus sung together during all their lives; and long before her that “other Molly,” her dead mother, of whom his child was the very counterpart, had also joined her exquisite tones to his. Into many melodies they passed, college songs left behind, and deeper feelings stirred by the words they uttered; till finally perceiving that his own mood was growing most un-holiday like, the Judge suddenly burst forth with “John Brown’s Body.”
Then, indeed, did mirth and jollification begin. Far and near, all sorts and conditions of voices caught up the old melody and added their quota to the music; and when their leader began mischievously to alter the refrain by dropping the last word, and shortening it each time by one word less, delight was general and the fun waxed fast and furious.
The abrupt termination left many a singer in the lurch; and when the last verse was sung and ended only with “John—,” “John—,” “John,” there were still some who wandered on into “the grave” and had to join in the laugh their want of observation had brought upon them.
By this time also Miss Isobel Greatorex had become quite resigned to a proceeding which no other passenger had disapproved and which, she could but confess, had added a charm to that never-to-be-forgotten evening. Moonlight flooded the sea and the deck. The simplicity and good-fellowship of Judge Breckenridge and his sister had brought all these strangers into a harmony which bridged all distinctions of class or interest and rendered that first night afloat a most happy one for all.
Until—was the moonlight growing clouded? Did those six strokes of the bell actually mean eleven o’clock? So late—and suddenly so—so—so queer!