In the next second Father Salvierderra flung up his
south window, and leaning out, his cowl thrown off, his thin gray
locks streaming back, began in a feeble but not unmelodious voice
to sing,--
"O beautiful Queen,
Princess of Heaven."
Before he had finished the second line, a half-dozen voices had
joined in,-- the Senora, from her room at the west end of the
veranda, beyond the flowers; Felipe, from the adjoining room;
Ramona, from hers, the next; and Margarita and other of the maids
already astir in the wings of the house. As the volume of melody
swelled, the canaries waked, and the finches and the linnets in the
veranda roof. The tiles of this roof were laid on bundles of tule
reeds, in which the linnets delighted to build their nests. The roof
was alive with them,-- scores and scores, nay hundreds, tame as
chickens; their tiny shrill twitter was like the tuning of myriads of
violins.
"Singers at dawn
From the heavens above
People all regions;
Gladly we too sing,"
continued the hymn, the birds corroborating the stanza. Then men's
voices joined in,-- Juan and Luigo, and a dozen more, walking
slowly up from the sheepfolds.
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