“Song—the sleepy song; I think I shall sleep.”
Hush! rest, dear white head, on my breast; close, poor eyes that cannot see the light. Rest, rest, in the quiet twilight!
“Roll, roll, rolling billow,
Smooth, smooth my sleepy pillow,
Golden mast and a cedar paddle,
For to set my spirit free!”
CHAPTER V
HOW THE SECOND LINE CAME IN HER FOREHEAD
It was when Grandfather died that the second line came across Grandmother’s clear forehead. Sometimes—when she was playing with the children, for example—it was so faint one hardly noticed it; but again it would be deep, a line of thought—or was it pain?—drawn straight as by a ruler. Manuel noticed it one day, and spoke of it.
“You look troubled, Grandmother. What is it?”
“I have lost my best friend, Manuel,” said Grandmother. “I may well look troubled; yet it is not trouble either, only sorrow, for missing him, and for wishing I had done more for him.”