They discussed the new plan with great gusto. Billy was for making a huge mystery out of it all, like the meeting of some secret society. He proposed smuggling a luncheon out of the Carpenter and Baker pantries and to keep the spot they were to visit a secret. But Christopher did not see the charm of this. He preferred to tell straight out that the three boys wished to go on a picnic. He knew that he would have a much better time if he "had it out" plainly with Jane, instead of slipping away from her, and that Huldah would certainly put up a much better lunch-if she were asked politely-than he and Billy could ever get together by stealth. The swimming was the only part of the programme he did not care to discuss openly.

"Well, we'll do it as soon as we can," he concluded, as they reached Mr.

Parsons' gate. "I'll send you word by Perk when he comes in for the mail, or mebbe you'd better ride out to the farm on your bike and we'll talk it over."

"All right," replied Billy, lingering a moment as Christopher walked up the path. "I can go any time. I don't have to scheme to get away from the girls."

With which parting thrust he vaulted the fence into his own garden. He would have liked to be invited to the tea-party, too, but Christopher never dreamed of suggesting such a thing. He believed that Billy was laughing at him for joining the girls and his cheeks grew very red. He stopped and for a moment was tempted to turn back and sit on the fence with Bill, and talk of swimming, baseball and other manly topics until his grandmother was ready to go home. But just then he looked around-he had reached the corner of the house-and caught sight of the white-covered table, loaded with goodies. He went on.

CHAPTER XII

LETTY SINGS A LULLABY

After the lemonade had all been drunk and most of the cakes eaten-for not even Christopher's best efforts could quite empty the many plates-Letty offered to go back to her storytelling. She sat down on the gra.s.s with her back against a tree trunk and the twins curled themselves up contentedly on each side. Little Anna Parsons sat silent at her feet.

"Why are your stories always about people or fairies who sing beautifully?" asked Christopher unexpectedly, after Letty had related two or three tales of her own invention. "Do you sing, Letty?"

"I should like to. Oh, how I should like to!" sighed Letty, clasping her hands.

"Sing something to us now," commanded Jane.

"I only know one or two songs," replied Letty shyly, "and they are old songs. I think you children must know them already. I was never taught to sing," she added quickly.

"Neither were we, except in Sunday-school, but we'll sing for you, if you like," said Christopher politely. "Sit up, Jane, and we'll give her 'Onward, Christian Soldiers.'"

"I think Letty'd like 'There's a Work for Me and a Work for You'

better," objected Jane. "Her stories always have something about doing things in them."

"Well, don't the Christian Soldiers do things? They conquer the world and all that sort of thing. I like that song because you can make such a jolly lot of noise over it. It's a regular shouter."

"Boys always like to make a noise," said Jane to Letty with an apologetic air. "But they are not the nicest kind of songs. I like lullabies and such things. Letty, don't you know a lullaby? I guess you used to have to sing them to Mrs. Drake's baby, didn't you?"

Tears filled Letty's eyes at the memory Jane's words called up, of the cuddly, drowsy baby she had hushed to sleep so often.

"Yes, I used to sing Mrs. Drake's baby to sleep. Shall I sing you that song?" she asked.

Once, on the memorable occasion of which she had told Mrs.

Hartwell-Jones, Letty's brother had taken her to a concert. One of the songs was DeKoven's "Winter Lullaby." The soft, crooning cadence of the song had thrilled Letty's heart and she had listened with rapture. The song had been repeated in response to an encore and so, by careful attention, she had managed to memorize the words of the two verses. She sang it now to the children and as she began, grandmother and Mrs.

Hartwell-Jones suddenly ceased their talk and sat listening.

A WINTER LULLABY

"The valley is going to sleep, the birds in their nest are still And the maple branches bend and break, over the leafless hill: And the pitying sky looks down, and whispers to the snow, Let us cover the hills so bare and brown, where the flowers used to grow; And she croons a lullaby, through the hush of the storm- Sleep, sleep in your cradle deep, sleep, sleep in your cradle deep And I will keep you warm, so sleep, sleep, sleep!

"The valley is going to wake, the birds in their nest will sing And the maple branches bud and break, into the leaves of spring, And the gleaming vale shall hear another lullaby, And zephyrs will whisper it into her ear, out of the heart of the sky: Another lullaby, tuned to the heart of the stream,- Wake, wake for your robin's sake, wake, wake for your robin's sake; And tell the sky your dream, so wake, wake, wake!"

When she had finished grandmother exclaimed in a low voice:

"Why, Mrs. Hartwell-Jones, how charming. What if you have discovered a genius!"

Tears came into Mrs. Hartwell-Jones's eyes.

"So it seems to you, too, that she has a good voice?" she murmured eagerly. "I have wondered, and am most impatient to take her to the city to have her voice tried. I have heard her singing to herself now and then and although I know nothing about voice culture, I thought one or two notes appeared to have an unusual quality. And, dear Mrs. Baker, I shall never forget that it was really Jane who discovered Letty for me; her sweet kindliness for a 'little sister in heaven.' The child's coming has made a great difference in my life already."

"What is the song all about?" demanded Christopher of Letty, sitting upright in his curiosity. "What was the dream?"

"I don't know what the dream was, but--"

"Why don't you know? There must have been some sort of a dream, because the song says, 'and tell the sky your dream.' And who was talking, anyway?"

"Why, the sky was talking to the earth, I think."

"And did the whole earth dream? And why did the sky want the earth to wake up and tell its dream to the sky? Why didn't it say, 'and tell me your dream'? And why in the world don't they tell what the dream is? I think it's a silly song, anyhow."

"Kit Baker, you are a rude boy!" exclaimed his sister indignantly. "It isn't a story, it's a song. And songs don't have to mean much, do they, Letty, as long as they are pretty."

"Well, I think there ought to be another verse, telling the dream. Can't you make up another verse as you go along, Letty? Seems to me I just must know what that dream was."

"I guess there were lots and lots of dreams," said Jane musingly. "All the flowers and birds dreamed. I could make up one dream; that an ugly little flower dreamed it was a lovely pink tulip, all pale and wide-open and satiny."

"Huh, I'd rather be a red one, with yellow streaks down the middle.

They're lots showier and they live longer, too. The gardener that was putting our bulbs out last fall told me so."

"But they're beastly ugly. People don't dream about being something ugly, even if it is strong and healthy. I'd rather not live so long, if I could only be so beautiful that people just had to stop and look at me. Wouldn't you, Letty?"

"I don't think looks matter so much," said Letty practically, "if you keep your soul all nice and clean inside you. Then it shines out through your eyes and your smiles and makes you beautiful that way. Even cripples are beautiful if their souls are clean. My Sunday-school teacher, dear Miss Reese, told me that once. She was beautiful-very beautiful, and until then I had thought it was because she had nice white skin, pink cheeks, dimples and a pretty silk dress. But after she told me that, I knew it was just her angel soul looking out through her eyes."

"What color were her eyes?" asked Christopher. "And could cross-eyed people look beautiful? I don't see how they could on the outside, even if their souls were ever so clean."

Grandmother and Mrs. Hartwell-Jones, who could not help overhearing this conversation, smiled at each other. Just then Joshua drove up in the carriage and everybody knew that it was time to go home.

"I understand that Sally has a birthday day after to-morrow," said Mrs.

Hartwell-Jones to Jane.

"Oh, yes, Mrs. Hartwell-Jones, she will be three years old," replied Jane, with all the pride of a doting mamma. "Uncle Gus gave her to me when I lost my first tooth. The fairies gave me a big silver dollar for the tooth, too. I wrapped it up in tissue-paper and put it under my pillow and they took it away in the night and left a shining silver dollar."

"The blessed fairies! Now suppose you let me give Sally a birthday party? It would give Letty and me such pleasure to arrange it."

Jane glowed with delight and accepted in both Sally's name and her own, with alacrity. Christopher p.r.i.c.ked up his ears. A doll's birthday party did not appeal to him, even with the inducement of the "party." Why would not that day be the very opportunity for his excursion with Billy and Jo Perkins?

"Please let the children come early, Mrs. Baker," Mrs. Hartwell-Jones said to grandmother, "so that we may have a long afternoon together. Or, if you wish, Letty could drive out after them in the pony carriage."

"Oh, thank you, I can send them quite easily. There is always some one driving into the village. But are you sure that you want them again so soon? You must not let them bother you."

Grandmother did not want the twins to become a nuisance to any one, although in her secret heart of grandmother-hearts, she did not see how any one could see too much of Jane or Christopher.