"Punti!" she exclaimed delightedly, holding the yellow blossoms to her nose. "Isn't it lovely? ... No flower in the world's got such a perfume!"
Michael had explained to the guests that Sophie was not to be asked to sing, and that nothing was to be said about her singing. Something had gone wrong with her voice, he told two or three of the men.
He thought he had put the fear of God into Paul, and had managed to make him understand that it distressed Sophie to talk about her singing, and he must not bother her with questions about it. But in a lull of the talk Paul's voice was raised querulously:
"What I can't make out, Sophie," he said, "is why you can't sing? What's happened to your voice? Have you been singing too much? Or have you caught cold? I always told you you'd have to be careful, or your voice'd go like your mother's did. If you'd listened to me, now, or I'd been with you...."
Bully Bryant, catching Michael's eye, burst across Paul's drivelling with a hearty guffaw.
"Well," he said, "Sophie's already had a sample of the fine lungs of this family, and I don't mind givin' her another, and then Ella and me'll have to be takin' Buffalo Bill home to bed. Now then, old son, just let 'em see what we can do." He raised his voice to singing pitch:
"For-er she's a jolly good fellow, for-er-"
All the men and women in the hut joined in Bully's roar, singing in a way which meant much more than the words—singing from their hearts, every man and woman of them.
Then Bully put his baby under his arm as though it were a bundle of washing, Ella protesting anxiously, and the pair of them said good-night to Sophie. Snow-Shoes went out before them; and Martha said she would walk down to the town with Bully and Ella. Bill Grant and Maggie said good-night.
"Sophie looks as if she'd sleep without rocking to-night," Maggie Grant said by way of indicating that everybody ought to go home soon and let Sophie get to bed early.