Madeline played the "music."
I saw her wince sometimes, when the fine though untutored voices around
her took on a too wild and exuberant strain. The little woman's own voice
was exceedingly gentle and refined; more than that, it had a passionately
sweet, sad tone, a rare pathos. I used to wonder what there was in
Madeline's heart--what there had been in her life--to make her sing so.
Then I remembered how easy it was for her to get out of temper, and how
often she slapped the children, and I concluded that it was only a voice
after all, and not necessarily indicative of any inward sentiment or
emotion.
And the mischievous Harvey Dole--could it be the same youth who stood
there now with tearful eyes, chanting his longings to be pure and
sanctified and heavenly. This merry youth had a predilection for those
religious songs which contained the deepest and saddest sentiment.
"Now, what's the matter with you, Harvey?" said Emily Gaskell, who had
but just dropped in. "You know you'll go along hum to-night stunin' my
cats! You know what a precious nice time you're calculatin' to have,
about two months from now, up in my trees stealin' my peaches, you young
devil.
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