The wind sobbed fitfully a moment, little sad remorseful penitential sobs, and died away softly across the prairie as a breath of May.
The stillness which ensued was so deep and restful that the eyes of the child involuntarily closed. Cyclona pressed his little body close to her, his head in the hollow of her arm. She rocked him back and forth gently, singing:
"Sleep, baby, sleep," the words coming slowly, she was so tired.
"The big stars are the sheep,
The little ... stars ... are ... the lambs, I guess.
The moon ... is ... the ... shepher ... dess,
Sleep,
Baby ...
Sleep ..."
Her eyes closed. She nodded, still rocking gently back and forth.
After a long time Seth pushed open the door and looked in.
He set back the chair and came tip-toeing forward.
Cyclona raised her head and looked at him dreamily.
"Hush!" she whispered. "Be very quiet ... He has gone to sleep."