Mrs Swadling, who never let herself be asked twice, for fear of being thought shy, led off with a pathetic ballad.

She sang in a thin, quavering voice, staring into, vacancy with glassy eyes like the blind beggars at the corner, dragging the tune till it became a wail--a dirge for lost souls.
Some are gone from us for ever, Longer here they might not stay; They have reached a fairer region, Far away-ee, far away-- They have reached a fairer region, Far away-ee, far away.
The guests listened with a beery sadness in their eyes, suddenly reminded that you were here to-day and gone to-morrow, pierced with a sense of the tragic brevity of Life, their hearts oppressed with a pleasant anguish at the pity and wonder of this insubstantial world.
Mrs Yabsley had put the baby in her bed, where it had slept calmly through the night till awakened by the singing.

Then it grew fretful, disturbed by the rude clamour.

At length, in a sudden pause, a lusty yell from the bedroom fell on their ears.

Everyone smiled.