Grace Harlowes Golden Summer | Page 3

melody of the mandolin. As a result the patient instrument immediately ceased its complaining tinkle. Hippy, however, lilted on, undisturbed, for a matter of five seconds, when a chorus of threatening protests warned him to cease.
"Do be good," admonished Nora, laughing in spite of herself. "Either sing prettily or don't try to sing at all."
"Madam, it is not necessary for me to try to sing. Song and I are one. Let me give you an illustration. Name a ditty best suited to my voice and I will prove myself."
"I can't recall one," discouraged Nora.
"Silent singing would suit you best," grumbled Reddy. "You could make your lips do the deed without damaging any one else's ear drums."
"I'll try it," amiably agreed the noisy soloist. "Just watch me." He proceeded to indulge in a series of labial contortions that a dumb man would have envied, and which had a most hilarious effect upon those whom he had lately persecuted with raucous sound. Rudely requested to desist from even this newly discovered pastime, he subsided with a frantic signalling to the effect that he had actually been stricken dumb.
"It's too good to be true," exclaimed the relieved Reddy, laying fresh hold on the mandolin. "While we have peace, sing for us, Nora. We ought to make the most of this unexpected opportunity."
"Give us that song you used to sing about Golden Summer," begged Jessica. "Don't you remember, that was one of the first pieces Reddy learned to play on the mandolin? I haven't heard it in ages. I'd love to hear Nora sing it again."
"Yes, sing it, Nora." Grace added her plea. "I don't believe I've ever heard it. It will be very appropriate to the occasion."
"Wait a minute until I think how it goes." Reddy began a reflective strumming, bringing back, bit by bit, a plaintive little air that carried a subdued heart throb. "I've got it," he nodded. "Go ahead, Nora."
Her hands loosely clasped, Nora's clear, high voice, which Grace always declared "had tears in it," took up the song of Jessica's fancy to the subdued accompaniment of the mandolin.
"Golden Summer's in the land! Hark! Her call soars high and sweet. Hedge-rows flow'r at her command; Roses spring beneath her feet. Skies grow azure; life beats strong; Nature listens to adore; Thrilling at the siren's song, Yields her wond'rous treasured store. Precious fabrics of her loom Clothe her darling of the year; Wealth of sunshine; breath of bloom; Cloudless days, so fair, so dear.
"Golden Summer's voice is stilled-- Autumn chants a requiem low. Gone the days with rapture filled. Life's a-throbbing, sad and slow. Skies grow hazy; sunshine wanes, Vivid green fast turns to brown; Here and there along the lanes, Flames the sumac's lonely crown. Sings the voice of Mem'ry now, 'Cleave to Love--lest it depart; Bind remembrance on thy brow, Cherish Summer in thy heart.'"
"I don't like that song at all." As the last haunting cadence died away, the dumb man came into energetic speech.
"Why not, Hippy? I think it is beautiful." Grace turned surprised eyes on the stout protestant.
"It gives me the creeps," he declared shortly and with unmistakable earnestness. "The first verse is all very nice. Summer is a golden time, etc. But why remind us that fall is coming?" He had now resumed his old, bantering tone. "I prefer to have summer three hundred and sixty-five days in the year. I don't like murky skies, worn-out grass, skeleton hedge-rows, muddy lanes, lonesome sumacs and cold winds. As for winter, lead me away from it. I absolutely refuse to carry summer about in so useful an organ as my heart, when it's ten below zero and the water pipes are all frozen up."
"That is because you have no sentiment," challenged Reddy. Whereupon the divine power of song was at once swallowed up in a fresh burst of argument as futile as it was laughable. It was ended by tactful Anne, who was always supremely useful when called upon to arbitrate such important matters. The relative merits of "Golden Summer" having been successfully decided and laid to rest, Nora again lifted up her voice in a selection infinitely more to her liege lord's liking. Then followed an old-fashioned song in which every one took part, filling the quiet moonlit night with sweetest harmony.
"It's half-past ten, children," reminded David, as striking a match he consulted his watch. "Anne, Jessica, Reddy, and I are due to catch early trains to-morrow morning. Anne and I mustn't miss ours. We promised Miriam we'd surely be with her to-morrow night."
"Anne, don't forget to tell Miriam not to dare do any shopping until Mother and I arrive in New York," reminded Grace. "She promised to wait for me, so that we could do our shopping together. I've written her about it, but I wish