"Sing to us, Sophie," Mirry said.
Sophie often sang to them when she and Ella and Mirry were out like this. As she sat with them, dreaming in the sunshine, she sang almost without any conscious effort; she just put up her chin, and the melodies poured from her. Hearing her voice, as it ran in ripples and eddies through the clear, warm air, hung and quivered and danced again, delighted her.
Ella and Mirry listened in a trance of awe, reverence, and admiration. Sophie had a dim vision of them, wide-eyed and still, against the tall grass and flowers.
"My! You can sing, Sophie! Can't she, Ella?"
Ella nodded, gazing at Sophie with eyes of worshipping love.
"They say you're going away with your father ... and you're going to be a great singer, Sophie," Mirry said.
"Yes," Sophie murmured tranquilly, "I am."
A bevy of black and brown birds flashed past them, flew in a wide half-circle across the paddock, and alighted on a dead tree beyond the fence.
"Look, look!" Mirry started to her feet. "A happy family! I wonder, are the whole twelve there?"
She counted the birds, which were calling to each other with little shrill cries.