"There is rest for the weary,
There is rest for the weary,
There is rest for the weary,
There is rest for you!
"On the other side of Jordan,
In the green fields of Eden,
Where the tree of life is blooming,
There is rest for your soul!"
Pippin rose and stood for some moments looking down on the quiet face; then he made his reverence—bowing lower than usual, with a gesture of his hands as if taking leave of something high and noble—and turned away.
Closing the door softly, he paused, looking into the darkness of the passage with wistful eyes. He was very, very lonely; his heart was sad as death. Could he—might he not, once more, call up to comfort him the shadow faces he had loved so well? Now? Just this once! He bent forward, his eyes fixed intently.
"Ma!" he said softly. "You there?"
A moment's pause; then a sob broke from him and he turned to go.
But then—oh, then!—came a rustle of something soft, came a flash of something white. Two arms were flung round his neck, pressing him close, close; a radiant head lay on his shoulder.
"Will I do?" cried Mary Blossom. "Oh, Pippin, Pippin! Will I do instead?"