It recalled some other widespread mist of treble music, long ago.

The trilling of frogs, that had been, before.
"You dear, brave boy," she said slowly.

"You're so honest, too.

I'm not ungrateful.

Do you know what I'd like--Oh, there's the _amah!"_ She drew back, with an impatient gesture.
"That stupid, fat Mrs.Earle's waiting for me .-- I hate to leave you." The stealthy brightness of her admiration changed to a slow, inscrutable appeal.