She herself responded nervously and automatically to his condition, felt herself begin to tighten up, and knew that she was equally ready to shake him furiously, or to burst into anguished tears of sympathy for his pain.

Wait now . . . wait . . . what was the thing to do for Mark?  What would untie those knots of fright and shock?  For Paul it would have been talk of the bicycle he was to have for his birthday; for Elly a fairy-story or a piece of candy!  For Mark . . .

High above the tumult of Mark’s shrieks and her own spasmodic reactions to them, she sent her intelligence circling quietly . . . and in an instant . . . oh yes, that was the thing.  “Listen, Mark,” she said in his ear, stopping her effort to take down his hands, “Mother’s learned a new song, a new one, awfully funny.  And ever so long too, the way you like them.”  She put her arms about him and began, hearing herself with difficulty through his cries.

     “On yonder hill there stands a damsel,
     Who she is, I do not know.”

("How preposterous we must sound, if Eugenia is listening,” she thought to herself, as she sang, “out-yelling each other this way!”)

     “I’ll go and court her for her beauty. 
     She must answer ‘yes’ or ‘no.’”

As usual Mark fell helpless before the combination of music and a story.  His cries diminished in volume.  She said in his ear, “And then the Lady sings,” and she tuned her voice to a young-ladyish, high sweetness and sang,

     “My father was a Spanish Captain,
     Went to sea a month ago,”

Mark made a great effort and choked down his cries to heaving sobs as he tried to listen,

     “First he kissed me, then he left me;
     Bade me always answer ‘no.’”

She told the little boy, now looking up at her out of the one eye not covered by his hands, “Then the gentleman says to her,” she made her voice loud and hearty and bluff,

     “Oh, Madam, in your face is beauty,
     On your lips red roses grow. 
     Will you take me for your lover? 
     Madam, answer ‘yes’ or ‘no.’”

She explained in an aside to Mark, “But her father had told her she must always answer just the one thing, ‘no,’ so she had to say,” she turned up in the mincing, ladylike key again, and sang,

     “Oh no, John, no, John, no.”

Mark drew a long quivering breath through parted lips and sat silent, his one eye fixed on his mother, who now sang in the loud, lusty voice,

     “Oh, Madam, since you are so cruel,
     And that you do scorn me so,
     If I may not be your lover,
     Madam, will you let me go?”

And in the high, prim voice, she answered herself,

     “Oh no, John, no, John, no!”

A faint smile hovered near Mark’s flushed face.  He leaned towards his mother as she sang, and took down his hands so that he could see her better.  Marise noted instantly, with a silent exclamation of relief that the red angry mark was quite outside the eye-socket, harmless on the bone at one side.  Much ado about nothing as usual with the children.  Why did she get so frightened each time?  Another one of Mark’s hairbreadth escapes.