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Her magnificent voice rose and fell in all its richness and power and
pity and beauty! She looked above the dingy room and the tired faces of
men and women, the hard hands and the struggling hearts. She threw back
her head and sang till the choirs of paradise must have paused to listen
to the Easter music of that day.
She passed her hand caressingly over the girl's soft dark hair, and sang
on--and on--"Take--oh! take her to thy care!"
The mother's face grew rapt and white. I held her hands and watched her
eyes. Suddenly she threw my hand off and knelt at Parepa's feet, close
to the wooden trestles. She locked her fingers together, tears and sobs
breaking forth. She prayed aloud that God would bless the angel singing
for Annie. A patient smile settled about her lips, the light came back
into her poor, dulled eyes, and she kissed her daughter's face with a
love beyond all interpretation or human speech. I led her back to her
seat as the last glorious notes of Parepa's voice rose triumphant over
all earthly pain and sorrow.


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