The reader's cadenced voice blended with the song of a thrush.
'"Let us alone.

Time driveth onward fast, And in a little while our lips are dumb.

Let us alone.

What is it that will last?
All thing' are taken from us--"' There came an interruption, hurried, peremptory.

A farmer over at Kingston Seymour had been seized with alarming illness; the doctor must come at once.
'Very sorry, girls.