"Ay, 'twas clear wonderful to see what a change a smile could make in that stern face of his."
"Oh, but in those days there was no sternness in his face, only a great gladness and gayety. I have seen him lie under the trees and whistle beneath the hat pulled over his face, till all the birds gathered round and wondered what strange new creature it was that had learned so merry a note."
Elinor's eyes grew dark and misty as she looked across the candle-light into the darkness beyond; but the smile still curved her lips, and an expression lay on her face as of one who listens and responds.
"Mother, wilt thou sing me a song as thou dost every Candlemas?"
"Cecil, I fear my voice will not follow my resolutions; but yes,—it shall. What wilt thou have me sing?"
"Oh, the song about the lady with the green sleeves."
"Must it be that, Cecil? Surely some other would do as well."
"No, 'tis my favorite of them all."
Elinor paled a little; but she began bravely, and her courage and her voice rose together till at the end there came a triumphant burst that swelled beyond the narrow walls and could be heard out on the road, and the villagers stood still to listen, and nudged each other with wonder.