And this was what her musical genius had come to--singing and making baby-songs for little children, to which the only chorus of applause was a faint "Bravo!" and a clapping of hands from the distant fireside.
"Papa, we never thought you heard us.

We thought when you were deep in that big book you heard nothing." "Indeed?
Very well" said papa, and disappeared below the surface again, until he revived to take out his watch and observe that it was nearly time for little people to be safe asleep in their little beds.
Papa was always unquestioningly and instantaneously obeyed, so the young trio ceased their laughing over their funny songs, and prepared for one--a serious one--which always formed the conclusion of the night's entertainments.
Every body knows it; most people have been taught it, the first song they were ever taught, from their mother's lips.

Christian had learned it from her mother, and it was the first thing she taught to these her children--the Evening Hymn--"Glory to Thee, my God, this night." She had explained its meaning to them, and made them sing it seriously--not carelessly.

As they stood round the piano, Titia and Atty one at each side, and Oliver creeping in to lean upon his step-mothers knee, there was a sweet grave look on all their faces, which made even the two eldest not unpretty children; for their hearts were in their faces--their once frightened, frozen, or bad and bitter hearts.

They had no need to hide any thing, or be afraid of any thing.