“Neither were we, except in Sunday-school, but we’ll sing for you, if you like,” said Christopher politely. “Sit up, Jane, and we’ll give her ‘Onward, Christian Soldiers.’”
“I think Letty’d like ‘There’s a Work for Me and a Work for You’ better,” objected Jane. “Her stories always have something about doing things in them.”
“Well, don’t the Christian Soldiers do things? They conquer the world and all that sort of thing. I like that song because you can make such a jolly lot of noise over it. It’s a regular shouter.”
“Boys always like to make a noise,” said Jane to Letty with an apologetic air. “But they are not the nicest kind of songs. I like lullabies and such things. Letty, don’t you know a lullaby? I guess you used to have to sing them to Mrs. Drake’s baby, didn’t you?”
Tears filled Letty’s eyes at the memory Jane’s words called up, of the cuddly, drowsy baby she had hushed to sleep so often.
“Yes, I used to sing Mrs. Drake’s baby to sleep. Shall I sing you that song?” she asked.
Once, on the memorable occasion of which she had told Mrs. Hartwell-Jones, Letty’s brother had taken her to a concert. One of the songs was DeKoven’s “Winter Lullaby.” The soft, crooning cadence of the song had thrilled Letty’s heart and she had listened with rapture. The song had been repeated in response to an encore and so, by careful attention, she had managed to memorize the words of the two verses. She sang it now to the children and as she began, grandmother and Mrs. Hartwell-Jones suddenly ceased their talk and sat listening.
A WINTER LULLABY
“The valley is going to sleep, the birds in their nest are still
And the maple branches bend and break, over the leafless hill:
And the pitying sky looks down, and whispers to the snow,
Let us cover the hills so bare and brown, where the flowers used to grow;
And she croons a lullaby, through the hush of the storm—
Sleep, sleep in your cradle deep, sleep, sleep in your cradle deep
And I will keep you warm, so sleep, sleep, sleep!
“The valley is going to wake, the birds in their nest will sing
And the maple branches bud and break, into the leaves of spring,
And the gleaming vale shall hear another lullaby,
And zephyrs will whisper it into her ear, out of the heart of the sky:
Another lullaby, tuned to the heart of the stream,—
Wake, wake for your robin’s sake, wake, wake for your robin’s sake;
And tell the sky your dream, so wake, wake, wake!”
When she had finished grandmother exclaimed in a low voice:
“Why, Mrs. Hartwell-Jones, how charming. What if you have discovered a genius!”