“Oh, don’t stop, please don’t!” she cried imploringly; “it’s Father’s sonata, and you were playing it so beautifully. I love all Father’s things so, and I haven’t heard any of them since—since—” A big sob finished the sentence.
“Why, my dear little girl,” exclaimed Miss Heath, her face changing from amusement to real sympathy; “what is the matter—what does this all mean, children?”
“Oh, don’t stop; please don’t!”—Page [146].
The twins shook their heads helplessly, and stared at their visitor in blank amazement.
“There isn’t anything the matter,” faltered Gretel, “only you were playing Father’s sonata, and I was so glad to hear it. I couldn’t help getting excited. Please excuse me; I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Barbara Heath’s only answer was to slip an arm round the little trembling figure.
“Who is this little girl?” she inquired of the twins.
“Her name is Gretel Schiller,” Geraldine explained. “Father and Mother know her brother, and she’s going to spend the day. We’re going up-stairs now; come along, Gretel.”
But Gretel did not move.