It was a very singular chiming melody, and the low, sweet, tripping

syllables were in a language quite unknown to him. But he thought that

he had never heard music half so sweet and tender; and he listened to

it, and watched the drowsy, swaying movements of the mother, with a

strange delight,-"Trip a trop a tronjes,

De varkens in de boonjes,

De keojes in de klaver,

De paardeen in de haver,

De eenjes in de waterplass,

So groot mijn kleine Joris wass."

Over and over, softer and slower, went the melody. It was evident that

the boy was asleep, and that Katherine was going to lay him in his

cradle. He watched her do it; watched her gently tuck in the cover, and

stand a moment to look down at the child. Then with a face full of love

she turned away, smiling, and quite unconsciously came toward him on

tiptoes. With his face beaming, with his arms opened, he entered; but

with such a sympathetic understanding of the sweet need of silence and

restraint that there was no alarm, no outcry, no fuss or amazement. Only

a whispered "Katherine," and the swift rapture of meeting hearts and

lips.




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