"How should I your true love know, From another one? By his cockle hat and staff, And his sandal shoon..." It was the fourth time that Felicia, at the piano, had begun the old song. Kenelm uncurled his long legs, and sat up straight on the window-seat. "Why on earth so everlasting gloomy, Phil?" he said. "Isn't the rain bad enough, without that dirge?" "The sky's 'be-weeping' him, just the way it says," said Felicia. She made one complete revolution on the piano-stool, and brought her strong fingers down on the opening notes of another verse. "He is dead and gone, ladie, He is dead and--"
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