His rich, full voice lingered on the soft Celtic syllables,
dwelt tenderly on the diminutive endearments, while his heart,
overcharged with sorrow and joy and romance and dreams, spilled over
in an ecstasy of song.
Next door, in an upper bedroom, a tired soul paused in its final
flight. Martha Meech, stretching forth her thin arms in the twilight,
listened as one might listen to the strains of an angel choir.
"It's Sandy," she said, and the color came to her cheeks, the light to
her eyes. For, like Sandy, she had youth and she had love, and life
itself could give no more.
CHAPTER XIII
THE COUNTY FAIR
The big amphitheater at the fair grounds was filled as completely and
evenly as a new paper of pins. Through the air floated that sweetest
of all music to the childish ear--the unceasing wail of expiring
balloons; and childish souls were held together in one sticky ecstasy
of molasses candy and pop-corn balls.
Behind the highest row of seats was a promenade, and in front of the
lowest was another. Around these circled a procession which, though
constantly varying, held certain recurring figures like the charging
steeds on a merry-go-round. There was Dr. Fenton, in his tight
Confederate suit; he had been circling in that same procession at
every fair for twenty years.
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