“I wonder what’s the reason,” sighed Martha. “Mother says I get thinner and thinner.”
“You should have meat for dinner every day as I have,” said Hannah, “and then you would grow fat like me. Father gets such good dinners for us to what we used to have. He says ’tis that, and being in the air so much that prevents my being sickly, as I used to be. I don’t think I could do the work that I used to do with all that noise, and the smell of oil and the heat.”
“And I am sure I could not sing and dance as you do.”
“No, how should you dance when you are so lame?”
“And I don’t think I can sing at all.”
“Come, try, and I will sing with you. Try ‘God save the king.’”
“It is Sunday,” said Martha gravely.
“Well, I thought people might sing ‘God save the king’ on Sundays. I have heard father play it on the drum, just before the Old Hundred. You know the Old Hundred.”
Martha had heard this hymn-tune at church, and she tried to sing it; but Hannah burst out a laughing.
“Lord! Martha, your voice is like a little twittering bird’s. Can’t you open your mouth and sing this way?”