The Major smiled for the first time since his return home. He never could resist Pixie’s quaint speeches, and Bridgie watched with delight his brightening glance.
“Is it, piccaninny? That doesn’t sound very serious. You’ll have to tell the doctor to be stern with me. What have you been doing with yourself all day?”
“Fretting for you, but Mademoiselle’s going to play games with me, and I’ll enjoy them now that you’re comfortable. You’ve got on the very best pillow-cases, father. You do look smart! Are you tired now? Do you want to go to sleep? Will I sing to you awhile, the hymn you liked so much at church last Sunday?”
Bridgie looked dismayed at the suggestion, but it appeared that Pixie knew best what would please her father, for once more his face brightened, and the eyes flashed an assent. On Sunday evenings in winter, when the long dark walk made it difficult to get to church, the O’Shaughnessys had been accustomed to sing hymns together, not in the drawling, slipshod method in which such singing is too often done, but with at least as much care and finish as they would have bestowed on secular music, the different parts being accurately represented, and due attention given to time and expression. In this way delightful hours had been spent, and many beautiful hymns imprinted on the memory, so that in this instance Pixie had no need to consult a book. She merely leant against the bed-post, clasped her hands together, and, opening her lips, began at once to sing, with clear, full-throated sweetness—
“‘Come unto Me, ye weary,
And I will give you rest!’”
The beautiful old words seemed to take upon themselves an added significance in the shaded room, with the motionless figure lying upon the bed. The Major shut his eyes, and Bridgie turned aside with quivering face, but the flute-like voice went on without a tremor—
“‘Come unto Me, ye fainting,
And I will give you life!’
O cheering voice of Jesus,
Which comes to end our strife.
The foe is stern and eager,
The fight is fierce and long,
But He has made us mighty,
And stronger than the strong.”
There was a slight quickening of time in the last two lines, a clearer, stronger tone, as the singer’s emotional nature caught the triumph in the words, but the last verse was soft as an echo.
“‘And whosoever cometh
I will not cast him out.’
O welcome voice of Jesus,
Which drives away our doubt;
Which calls us very sinners,
Unworthy though we be
Of love so free and boundless,
To come, dear Lord, to Thee!”
The Major’s face was in shadow, but Bridgie saw the big tears rolling down his cheeks, and hurried the little sister from the room.