Wilmet hardly entered into this enormity. She had made a discovery
which interested her infinitely more. Little Theodore, hitherto so
inanimate, had sat up, listened, looked with a dawning of expression
in the eyes that had hitherto been clear and meaningless as blue
porcelain, and as the music ceased, his inarticulate hummings
continued the same tune. Could it be that the key to the dormant
senses was found? His eyes turned to the piano, and his finger
pointed to it as soon as he found himself in the room with it, and
the airs he heard were continually reproduced in his murmuring
sounds; that 'How beautiful!' which had first awakened the gleam--his
own birthday anthem--being sure to recur at sight of Lance; while a
doleful Irish croon, Sibby's regular lullaby, always served for her,
and the 'Hardy Norseman' for Felix, who had sometimes whistled it to
him. Wilmet spent every available moment in awaking the smile on the
little waxen face that had never responded before; it seemed to be
just the cheering hope she needed to revive her spirits, only she was
almost ready to renounce her journey with Alda for the sake of
cultivating the new-found faculty.
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