me, that we were both of us 'eerie', and that, though we could see the children so plainly, we were quite invisible to them.
The song ceased just as they came into sight: but, to my delight, Bruno instantly said "Let's sing it all again, Sylvie! It did sound so pretty!" And Sylvie replied "Very well. It's you to begin, you know."
So Bruno began, in the sweet childish treble I knew so well:
"Say, what is the spell, when her fledgelings are cheeping,
That lures the bird home to her nest?
Or wakes the tired mother, whose infant is weeping,
To cuddle and croon it to rest?
What's the magic that charms the glad babe in her arms,
Till it cooes with the voice of the dove?"
And now ensued quite the strangest of all the strange experiences that marked the wonderful year whose history I am writingthe experience of first hearing Sylvie's voice in song. Her part was a very short oneonly a few words and she sang it timidly, and very low indeed, scarcely audibly, but the sweetness
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