"
"Were I a little bird,
And had a pair of wings,
I'd fly to thee;
But since I can't do that,
Here must I be.
Though I am far from thee,
In dreams I am with thee,
Thou art mine own;
But when I wake again,
I am alone.
No hour at night doth pass,
But that my heart doth wake,
And think of thee,--"
Thus sang Amrei. It was wonderful how all songs seemed now to apply to
her own life. And how many thousands of people have already sung those
songs from the depths of their souls, and how many thousands more are
yet to sing them!
Ye who yearn and who at last embrace a heart, ye embrace along with it
the love of all those who have ever been, or who ever shall be.
CHAPTER XII
HE IS COME
One Sunday afternoon Barefoot, according to her custom, was leaning
against the door-post of the house and gazing dreamily out before her,
when Coaly Mathew's grandson came running up the street, beckoning to
her from afar and crying:
"He is come, Barefoot! He is come!"
Barefoot felt her knees tremble, and she cried in a broken voice:
"Where is he? Where?"
"At my grandfather's, in Mossbrook Wood!"
"Where? Who? Who sent you?"
"Your Damie--he's down yonder in the woods."
Barefoot was obliged to sit down on the stone bench in front of the
house; but only for a minute. Then she pulled herself together and stood
up stiffly with the words:
"My brother? My Damie?"
"Yes, Barefoot's Damie," said the boy, bluntly; "and he promised that
you would give me a kreutzer if I would run and tell you.
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