the hearth babbling their own little subjects. Tess at length joined them, without lighting a candle.
'This is the last night that we shall sleep here, dears, in the house where we were born,' she said quickly. 'We ought to think of it, oughtn't we?'
They all became silent; with the impressibility of their age they were ready to burst into tears at the picture of finality she had conjured up, though all the day hitherto they had been rejoicing in the idea of a new place. Tess changed the subject.
'Sing to me, dears,' she said.
'What shall we sing?'
'Anything you know; I don't mind what.'
There was a momentary pause; it was broken, first, by one little tentative note; then a second voice strengthened it, and a third and a fourth chimed in in unison, with words they had learnt at the Sunday-school—
Here we suffer grief and pain,
Here we meet to part again;
In Heaven we part no more;
The four sang on with the phlegmatic passivity
