"Is supper ready, Aunt Miriam?" asked Barbara, quickly.

"Yes."

"Then come, let's go in."

Ambrose North took his place at the head of the table, which, purposely,
was nearest the door. Barbara and Miriam sat together, at the other end.

"Where were you to-day, Father?"

[Sidenote: At the top of the World]

"On the summit of the highest hill, almost at the top of the world.
I think I heard a robin, but I am not sure. I smelled Spring in the
maple branches and the cedar, and felt it in the salt mist that blew
up from the sea. The Winter has been so long!"

"Did you make a song?"

[Sidenote: Always Make a Song]

"Yes--two. I'll tell you about them afterward. Always make a song,
Barbara, no matter what comes."

So the two talked, while the other woman watched them furtively. Her
face was that of one who has lived much in a short space of time and her
dark, burning eyes betrayed tragic depths of feeling. Her black hair,
slightly tinged with grey, was brushed straight back from her wrinkled
forehead. Her shoulders were stooped and her hands rough from hard work.