"We solemnly swear," said Ralph, in a sepulchral voice. "That's just our kind of a pledge."
"It seems a pity to go to bed," said Happie. "We have had three such pleasant days——"
"That you want to sit up all night?" Miss Keren finished for her, with a hand on the second Keren-happuch's shoulder.
"It does seem a pity to shorten this blessed day," said Robert. "There never comes again the first day in Eden, you know."
He smiled down at Margery, who said: "If we go to sleep we can waken to the second day, and think how glad we shall be to find we had not dreamed to-day!"
"When this little girl's grandmother helped her husband to die, he told her that the last day was the happiest of their happy married life," said Miss Keren.
There was silence for a moment. Robert broke it by rising and saying gravely: "Sing one more hymn, and then good-night! Let's sing the splendid old long metre doxology, the Old Hundredth. I think there's nothing quite like it when you feel no end grateful and not fit to have half you've got."
"Let me play it, for I can't sing," said Miss Keren unexpectedly.
She took Laura's place and played the glorious old choral. The fresh young voices' sang with heart in them, and the harmony rose up the fireplace of the old Ark and floated out from the chimney upon the snow-storm, blanketing the once desolate house with beauty and warmth, symbolical of its interior change.
"Now, good-night, Miss Keren. You ought to have good nights and happy days, for you've made us all happy," said Robert.