There were no notes
before her on the rack, and she looked down into one or the other of the
two small faces as she sang. And, of course, it was a lullaby which
fell like notes of pearl and silver from her lips.
When she finished, I could only smile at her through an obscuring mist.
Never, in all the times I had heard her sing, had she reached my heart
like this. But, somehow, the picture of her, sitting in the half light
at the grand piano, with the babies in her arms and at her knee, singing
lullabies and leaving the fine music for her husband to sing by and by,
was quite irresistible. Somehow, as I listened, I was troubled by no
doubts lest she had not learned deftly to wipe ten teaspoons at once.
Her husband came home presently; a tall, thin, young bank cashier, with
a face I liked at once. He was plainly weary, but his eyes lit up with
satisfaction at sight of the three who met him at the door, and the
welcome his young son gave him showed that Bud recognized a play-fellow.
I heard the pair romping upstairs as the Cashier made dressing for
dinner a game in which the little child could join.
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