It was a very singular chiming melody, and the low, sweet, tripping
syllables were in a language quite unknown to him. But he thought that
he had never heard music half so sweet and tender; and he listened to
it, and watched the drowsy, swaying movements of the mother, with a
strange delight,-"Trip a trop a tronjes,
De varkens in de boonjes,
De keojes in de klaver,
De paardeen in de haver,
De eenjes in de waterplass,
So groot mijn kleine Joris wass."
Over and over, softer and slower, went the melody. It was evident that
the boy was asleep, and that Katherine was going to lay him in his
cradle. He watched her do it; watched her gently tuck in the cover, and
stand a moment to look down at the child. Then with a face full of love
she turned away, smiling, and quite unconsciously came toward him on
tiptoes. With his face beaming, with his arms opened, he entered; but
with such a sympathetic understanding of the sweet need of silence and
restraint that there was no alarm, no outcry, no fuss or amazement. Only
a whispered "Katherine," and the swift rapture of meeting hearts and
lips.