Tears came into Mrs. Hartwell-Jones’s eyes.
“So it seems to you, too, that she has a good voice?” she murmured eagerly. “I have wondered, and am most impatient to take her to the city to have her voice tried. I have heard her singing to herself now and then and although I know nothing about voice culture, I thought one or two notes appeared to have an unusual quality. And, dear Mrs. Baker, I shall never forget that it was really Jane who discovered Letty for me; her sweet kindliness for a ‘little sister in heaven.’ The child’s coming has made a great difference in my life already.”
“What is the song all about?” demanded Christopher of Letty, sitting upright in his curiosity. “What was the dream?”
“I don’t know what the dream was, but——”
“Why don’t you know? There must have been some sort of a dream, because the song says, ‘and tell the sky your dream.’ And who was talking, anyway?”
“Why, the sky was talking to the earth, I think.”
“And did the whole earth dream? And why did the sky want the earth to wake up and tell its dream to the sky? Why didn’t it say, ‘and tell me your dream’? And why in the world don’t they tell what the dream is? I think it’s a silly song, anyhow.”
“Kit Baker, you are a rude boy!” exclaimed his sister indignantly. “It isn’t a story, it’s a song. And songs don’t have to mean much, do they, Letty, as long as they are pretty.”
“Well, I think there ought to be another verse, telling the dream. Can’t you make up another verse as you go along, Letty? Seems to me I just must know what that dream was.”
“I guess there were lots and lots of dreams,” said Jane musingly. “All the flowers and birds dreamed. I could make up one dream; that an ugly little flower dreamed it was a lovely pink tulip, all pale and wide-open and satiny.”