Unconsciously my thoughts fell into the rhythm of this song, with the
result that I presently listened to catch its words--faint, childish,
laughing, yet musical in the scented dusk:--
"King William was King James's son and from the royal race he sprung;
Upon his breast he wore a star that showed the royal points of war.
Go choose your east and choose your west, and choose the one that you
love best.
If she's not here to take your part, go choose another with all your
heart.
Down on this carpet you must kneel, low as the grass grows in yon field.
Salute your bride and kiss her sweet, and then arise upon your feet."
The sentiment was ill suited to my own at the moment, but the raw-voiced
little singers appealed to my ears not unpleasantly. Again the verse
came--
"If she's not here to take your part--go choose another with all your
heart!"
I heard wheels then, nearer than the singing,--the clumsy rumble of our
big yellow 'bus. Voices were borne to me,--Clem's voice, Miss Caroline's
and another not like her's, a voice firmer, yet a dusky-warm woman's
voice. That was all I could think of at the time: perhaps the night
suggested it; they had qualities in common.
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