Paula the Waldensian - Eva Lecomte
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fa<strong>the</strong>r appealingly.<br />
"Let her sing," he said, "but leave it to <strong>the</strong> nightingales to sing alone.<br />
There are so few of <strong>the</strong>m."<br />
"And won't you let <strong>the</strong> crows sing along with her too, if we care to?"<br />
"There are too many crows," said my fa<strong>the</strong>r, shaking his head.<br />
"You are right, fa<strong>the</strong>r, and your daughter Catalina is one of <strong>the</strong> number,<br />
for she's only a poor sick crow. But sometimes, fa<strong>the</strong>r, you know <strong>the</strong> crows<br />
envy <strong>the</strong> nightingales."<br />
The comparison made my fa<strong>the</strong>r laugh heartily, and he let himself be<br />
persuaded by his elder daughter--that elder daughter whose voice was so like<br />
that of that dear wife of his, now forever silent.<br />
"Well, crows and nightingales let <strong>the</strong>m sing toge<strong>the</strong>r," he said; and<br />
embracing all three of us, he bid us goodnight. He disappeared, but not<br />
without turning for a moment to <strong>Paula</strong> with <strong>the</strong> remark, "Good-night, my<br />
little Alpine nightingale."<br />
And <strong>Paula</strong>, who did not seem to comprehend a single word of this<br />
conversation, answered gravely, "Good-night, uncle."<br />
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