YOU know how he can play." "Indeed I do! You must miss his playing, too." "I do; he talks of that, also," she hurried on, working her fingers nervously together; "but oftenest he--he speaks of singing, and I can't quite understand that, for he didn't ever sing, you know." "Singing?
What does he say ?" The man asked the question because he saw that it was affording the overwrought little woman real relief to free her mind; but at the first words of her reply he became suddenly alert.
"It's 'his song,' as he calls it, that he talks about, always.

It isn't much--what he says--but I noticed it because he always says the same thing, like this: I'll just hold up my chin and march straight on and on, and I'll sing it with all my might and main.' And when I ask him what he's going to sing, he always says, 'My song--my song,' just like that.

Do you think, Mr.Jack, he did have--a song ?" For a moment the man did not answer.

Something in his throat tightened, and held the words.

Then, in a low voice he managed to stammer:-- "I think he did, Mrs.Holly, and--I think he sang it, too." The next moment, with a quick lifting of his hat and a murmured "I'll call again soon," he turned and walked swiftly down the driveway.
So very swiftly, indeed, was Mr.Jack walking, and so self-absorbed was he, that he did not see the carriage until it was almost upon him; then he stepped aside to let it pass.