He hurried back into bed. If the child were overheard Hetty might look in. And Hester’s sharp ears were across the hall.
“No, baby; papa has no candy.” He was so startled and unmanned that he had to wet his lips with a tongue almost as parched before he could articulate. “Papa’s head aches badly. Will Annie sing him to sleep?”
Hester heard, through her stupor of misery, the weak little voice and the thump of the low rocking chair as baby crooned to the dolly cuddled in her arms and to “dee papa,” the song learned from Hester’s self:
“S’eep, baby, s’eep.
The angels watch ’y s’eep.
The fairies s’ake ’e d’eamland t’ee,
An’ all’e d’eams ’ey fall ow’ee.
S’eep, baby, s’eep!”
The rain fell straight and strong. The heavy pour had beaten all motion out of the air, but the gurgling of water pipes and the resonance of the tinned roof gave the impression of a tumultuous storm. Through the register and chimney arose a far-off humming from the cellar, where Homer was “redding up.” Hester’s acute ears divided the sound into notes and words:
“An’ we buried her deep, yes! deep among the rocks.