And Granny Robin, when she heard of it, said that it reminded her of a verse in the Book of Psalms:
"'The swallow hath found a nest for herself, where she may lay her young, even Thine altars, O Lord of hosts, my King and my God.'"
And she taught Audrey and Stephen a little hymn, which she told them to say to themselves as they peeped in at the swallows—
"'Happy birds that sing and fly
Round Thine altars, O most High;
Happier souls that find a rest
In a Heavenly Father's breast.'"
That was a hot summer in the old city. The elderly people said it reminded them of the summers when they were young, which they always declared were far hotter than the summers of their old age. The city lay on a great plain, and the scorching rays of the sun seemed to strike down upon it, with nothing to break their power. The old walls helped to shut out even the faintest breath of air which might be stirring outside; and as day after day and night after night went by, and no cool refreshing showers came, the atmosphere in the narrow streets of the city became close and stifling, and it was difficult to work by day or to sleep by night.
Every one felt the influence of the weather in one way or another. Aunt Cordelia felt it, and it affected her temper, and made her more hard than ever on Audrey's pinafores. Granny Robin felt it, and sometimes was so weary that she laid down her knitting, and sat with folded hands dozing in her chair by the window. Stephen's father felt it, and was obliged to climb out of his window and take his stool and tools under one of the churchyard trees.
Audrey felt it, and sat wearily in the close atmosphere of Miss Tapper's academy, and longed for school to be over, that she might get back to Stephen. But the little boy felt it most of all. The flowers on the two graves were drooping with the heat, in spite of all the careful watering they received. And Stephen, the frailest flower of all, was fading also, in spite of the tender care and love of his father.
No one thought much of it at first. It was the hot weather, they said, which made him so quiet, and which led him to lie for hours together on a rug which his father spread for him under the lilac bush, unable to play, too weary even to look at pictures, too weak and tired to do anything but watch the swallows flying backwards and forwards, and round and round, as they looked for food for the little birds in the nest. It was the hot weather, they felt sure, which had taken away his appetite, and which had made him look even more thin, and pale, and fragile than he did before.
"GRANNY ROBIN, I'VE COME TO TELL YOU A SECRET."