"Nay, for I love it, and 'tis so real,--far, far more real than the present. Why, I can smell again the fragrance of the waxen berries, and I can see Christopher as he stood pulling down the bushes and smiling at my eagerness to fill my pail. I think there never was a smile quite like his. 'Twas more in the eyes than the lips, and it seemed to have actual warmth in it, like the fire yonder." "Ay, 'twas clear wonderful to see what a change a smile could make in that stern face of his." "Oh, but in those days there was no sternness in his face, only a great gladness and gayety. I have seen him lie under the trees and whistle beneath the hat pulled over his face, till all the birds gathered round and wondered what strange new creature it was that had learned so merry a note." Elinor's eyes grew dark and misty as she looked across the candle-light into the darkness beyond; but the smile still curved her lips, and an expression lay on her face as of one who listens and responds. "Mother, wilt thou sing me a song as thou dost every Candlemas?" "Cecil, I fear my voice will not follow my resolutions; but yes,--it shall. What wilt thou have me sing?" "Oh, the song about the lady with the green sleeves." "Must it be that, Cecil? Surely some other would do as well." "No, 'tis my favorite of them all." Elinor paled a little; but she began bravely, and her courage and her voice rose together till at the end there came a triumphant burst that swelled beyond the narrow walls and could be heard out on the road, and the villagers stood still to listen, and nudged each other with wonder. "Heard ye that? 'Tis Mistress Calvert singing,--Mistress Calvert!" When the song was ended, Margaret took her turn at story-telling, and then Cecil must sing; and thus the time sped away so fast that they could scarce believe their ears when the curfew bell sounded for "lights out," and Cecil well-nigh forgot the answer to the bell, that he had been taught in babyhood and repeated every night since he could speak: "Christ send us the lights of Heaven!" "Off to bed with thee, Cecil," said his mother, taking his face between her hands, as was her wont, and kissing him on both cheeks. "To bed, and sweet dreams attend thee!" "Yet forget not to be up early," added Margaret. "No fear, I have all the candles to light for the Candlemas blaze, and Father White hath promised I may help him in the chapel of Our Lady." Leaning against his mother's knee he looked up into her face, exclaiming,-- "Oh, but I do love thee!" "I wonder why." "Why?--because thou art thou, and I am I." "Sweet, there is no other reason for loving in all the wide world." "I can think of other reasons too--little ones." "What?" "I love thee for the gold of thy hair, and for the holes at the corners of thy mouth, and for the seed cake thou didst give me, and for not beating me when I fell into the Governor's Spring in my new breeches, and for rubbing my legs that night."