"No--their 'country home' isn't much like our 'country home.' Oh, isn't this air delicious? Do you suppose Constance would be willing to sing in it? Wouldn't it sound like a part of the summer night out here?" They were bowling along the quiet country road, only the chirp of many locusts, the rumble of the wheels, and the sound of their own voices to break the stillness. Ferry leaned forward. Constance was at the farther end of the wagon, between Jarvis and Max. "Constance!" he called softly. Sally thought she would not hear, but she did. Ferry's voice, even in its subdued tones, possessed that carrying quality which is the peculiar acquirement of the trained public speaker. "Yes, Don," she called back, and everybody stopped talking. People had a way of stopping other talk to listen when either of these two had anything to say. "Here's a person, at this end of the chariot, who wonders if people with drawing-room voices ever venture to test them in the open air." "What do you think about it?" "That one of them will, if we ask her. Therefore, we ask." Constance considered an instant. "Will you and Janet sing 'My Garden' with me--especially for Sally?" For answer Ferry tried for the proper key, found it--under his breath--and began, very softly, and on a low note, to sing. Janet joined him with a subdued contralto, and the two voices, without words, made themselves into a harmonious undertone of an accompaniment. Upon this support, presently, rose Constance's pure notes. It was no "show singing," this time, and the song did not lift above a gentle volume which seemed to fit, as Sally had anticipated, into the night. But the listeners gave themselves to the listening as they had never done before, even in the many times they had heard this girl. Even Jake Kelly, on his driver's seat, turned about to hearken with held breath. The farm-hand drew his horses down to a walk, that not a note might be marred. "A garden is a lovesome thing, God wot! Rose plot, Fringed pool, Ferned grot-- The veriest school Of Peace, and yet the fool Contends that God is not-- Not God! in gardens! when the eve is cool? Nay, but I have a sign: 'Tis very sure God walks in mine." The words[A] were familiar to some of them--the music new. Together words and music were something to remember. [Footnote A: The words are those of Thomas Edward Brown.] Certain of these phrases came in over and over, throughout the song--taking hold of one's heart most appealingly. "_Not God--in gardens!--when the eve is cool_?" came again and again, till one felt it indeed to be the word of the fool. Then, in exquisite harmony, fell the assurance--"_Nay, but I have a sign--a sign--a sign--'Tis very sure God walks in mine_!" Everybody but Sally found words in which to tell, in some sort, how the song had seemed to them, even Alec observing boyishly, "I say, but that's great. I didn't know you folks could all sing."