the air in a deep, rich bass that filled the whole house. The human voice flowed on like a mighty tide, bearing along with it the tinny old piano, the shrill clarinet, the violin, scraped in old fiddler-fashion, the three-stringed guitar, the Sergeant's triangle and the Lieutenant's capricious nightingale.
Their hearts warmed, for the loss of Finland still rankled in their breasts; and now they seemed to be marching with the brave Björneborg lads to take back their country from the Russians.
When the march was finished the Lieutenant motioned to his wife, who struck up Worthy Fathers, Noble Shadows, from the opera of "Gustaf Vasa," which was the Major's great show piece. He rendered the song with power and feeling, and the instruments seemed almost to sing with him.
Over on the straight-backed sofa, quiet as mice, sat all the children Daniel, Johan, Anna, Selma, and Gerda—listening. What could they do but keep still, when the grown-ups played and carried on like youngsters? When the Major sang Worthy Fathers, Noble Shadows, they thought he sang of himself and the others who were performing in the living room.
To the children they were all like ghosts of a vanished something shadows of a great and glorious past of which they could but catch the faint gleams of an afterglow.
