"What's taken him all at once? Never heard him sing that way before!"
"Sh! Listen!"
The singer glanced down at the water, took a few strokes out, and went on:
"My home is where the rapids roar,
Below the river's brink.
All the rivers of all the world—
Who cares if he swim or sink?"
The listeners glanced at one another—the meaning of the song was growing clear.
"'Twas no spring day that gave me life
With sunlit skies and clear,
But a leafless gloom that sent me forth
To wander many a year.
My mother wept in her garden lone,
Or ever I was born; Looked at a
blood-red flower and wept
For that her heart was torn."
He was midway across now, paddling slowly, bending a little forward.
Those on the shore stood still, waiting.
"And that same flower grew red in my way,
And I wished it for my own.
I won but little joy of its bloom
That was in sorrow grown.
But little joy when my father rose
And drove me from his door,
And my mother wept as I went to seek
What sorrow was yet in store."