Ten miles down one road and almost as many along another flew the Comet, flashing his red breast gloriously in the sunshine.
In the whir of his smoothly running motor engine they could hear a song of the joy of living.
“He’s singing this morning,” exclaimed Mary ecstatically. “He’s got a little song all his own. Listen!”
They sat silently for a few minutes harkening to the music of the motor machine.
“I know exactly what he’s singing,” said Elinor. “I can distinctly hear him say:
‘God’s-in-His-Heaven-all’s-right-with-the-world
God’s-in-His-Heaven-all’s-right-with-the-world.’”
“I don’t hear him say that,” put in Nancy.
“He seems to me to be singing:
‘Begone-dull-care-begone-dull-care-begone-dull-care.’”
“What do you think he’s saying, Mary?” asked Timothy.