As the lad's sensitive face glowed or was clouded by each wayward thought, and the music of his sweet voice rose and fell, Mr.Howitt told himself that one might easily fancy the child some wandering spirit of the woods and hills.

Aloud, he asked, "Has Pete a mother, too ?" The youth nodded toward the big pine that grew to one side of the group, and, lowering his voice, replied, "That's Pete's mother." Mr.Howitt pointed to the grave; "You mean she sleeps there ?" "No, no, not there; there!" He pointed up to the big tree, itself.
"She never sleeps; don't you hear her ?" He paused.

The wind moaned through the branches of the pine.

Drawing closer to the stranger's side, the boy whispered, "She always talks that a way; always, and it makes Pete feel bad.

She wants somebody.