Father plays the 'cello,--that is, he does when he has time,--and he
found time to play it with Aunt, who does piano. I think she really
liked that better than the attic games, and we did, too, in a way.
The living-room of our house is quite low-ceilinged, and part of it
is under the roof, so that you can hear the rain on it. The boys lay
on the floor, and Mother and I sat on the couch, and we listened to
the rain on the roof and the sound--something like rain--of the
piano, and Father's 'cello booming along with it. They played a
thing called "Air Religieux" that I think none of us will ever hear
again without thinking of the humming on the roof and the candles
all around the room and one big one on the piano beside Aunt Ailsa,
making her hair all shiny. Her hair is amberish, too, like Greg's,
but her eyes are a very golden kind of brown, while his are dark
blue.
We thought she'd forgotten about being sad, but one night when I
couldn't sleep because it was so hot I heard her crying, and Mother
talking the way she does to us when something makes us unhappy. I
felt rather frightened, somehow, and wretched, and I covered up my
ears because I didn't think Aunt would want me to hear them talking
there.
The next day the sun really came out and stayed out. All of _us_
came out, too, and explored the garden. The grass had grown till it
stood up like hay, and there were such tall green weeds in the
flowerbeds that Mother couldn't believe they'd grown during the rain
and thought they were some phlox she'd overlooked.
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