“That's one you never heard before; my father used to sing it,” he told Saxon, who was glad that it was ended.
She had discovered the first flaw in him. He was tonedeaf. Not once had he been on the key.
“I don't sing often,” he added.
“You bet your sweet life he don't,” Bert exclaimed. “His friends'd kill him if he did.”
“They all make fun of my singin',” he complained to Saxon. “Honest, now, do you find it as rotten as all that?”
“It's... it's maybe flat a bit,” she admitted reluctantly.
“It don't sound flat to me,” he protested. “It's a regular josh on me. I'll bet Bert put you up to it. You sing something now, Saxon. I bet you sing good. I can tell it from lookin' at you.”
She began “When the Harvest Days Are Over.” Bert and Mary joined in; but when Billy attempted to add his voice he was dissuaded by a shin-kick from Bert. Saxon sang in a clear, true soprano, thin but sweet, and she was aware that she was singing to Billy.
“Now THAT is singing what is,” he proclaimed, when she had finished. “Sing it again. Aw, go on. You do it just right. It's great.”
His hand slipped to hers and gathered it in, and as she sang again she felt the tide of his strength flood warmingly through her.