“Is there anything else you would like to hear?” she asked.
“I should like to hear ‘Home, Sweet Home.’”
It was a song which Helen had often sung, and to which she could do full justice. It was not difficult to account for the feeling which led Martha Grey to make choice of this song. She was one of a large family, who had never known sorrow or separation till the death of her parents, following each other in quick succession, turned them all adrift upon the world.
As the song proceeded, Martha called up in fancy the humble farm-house among the New Hampshire hills, with its comfortable barn and well-tilled acres around it. She recalled the broad, low kitchen, with its large fireplace and blazing back-log, around which the family was wont to gather in the cheerful winter evenings. She recalled her little sister Ruth, who was about the age of Helen when their home was broken up, but whom she had not seen since, Ruth having been placed in the family of an uncle. She recalled her happy school-days, her school companions, and, above all, her father and mother, who had never been otherwise than kind to her, and then looked about the small and desolate room which she now called home. She could not help contrasting her present lonely position with what it had been when she was at home in the midst of her family, and as the last strain died away upon Helen’s lips, she burst into tears.
Helen looked up in surprise at this unwonted display of emotion on the part of one, usually so quiet and composed as Martha Grey.
“Don’t mind me, Helen,” said Martha, through her tears. “It came over me, and I couldn’t help it. Some time, perhaps, I will tell you why it is that that song always makes me shed tears.”
CHAPTER VIII.
SUNDAY AND TRINITY CHURCH.
It was Sunday morning. To thousands of frames, wearied by exhausting labors, it brought the benediction of rest. To thousands of throbbing brains it brought grateful relaxation. The great business thoroughfares wear a Sunday look. The shops are closed, and no longer hold out, through showily-arranged windows, invitations to enter. The bells in a hundred steeples ring out in many voices the summons to worship.
Helen tapped gently at Martha’s door.
“Where do you attend church?” she inquired.