te restrain herself,
and though she dare not speak, she sang. It was on the Sunday after
the organ came, when all the people at Grimsey were at church, in
their strong odor of fish and sea fowl, to hear the strange new
music. Michael Sunlocks played it, and when the people sang Greeba
also joined them. Her voice was low at first, but she soon lost
herself and then it rose above the other voices. Suddenly the organ
stopped, and she was startled to see the blind face of her husband
turning in her direction.

Later the same day she heard Sunlocks say to the priest, "Who was the
lady who sang?"

"Why, that was my good housekeeper," said the priest.

"And did you say that she had lost her husband?" said Sunlocks.

"Yes, poor thing, and she is a foreigner, too," said the priest.

"Did you say a foreigner?" said Sunlocks.

"Yes, and she has a child left with her also," said the priest.

"A child?" said Sunlocks. And then after a pause he added, with more
indifference, "Poor girl! poor girl!"

Hearing this, Greeba fluttered on the verge of discovering herself.
"If only I could be sure," she thought, but she could not; and the
more closely for the chance that had so nearly revealed her, she hid
herself henceforward in the solitude of an Iceland servant.

Two years passed and then Greeba had to share her secret with
another. That other was her own child. The little man was nearly
three years old by this time, walking a little and talking a great
deal, and not to be withheld by any care from going over every corner
of the house. He found Michael Sunlocks sitting alone in his
darkness, and the two struck up a fast friendship. They talked in
baby fashion, and played on the floor for hours. With a wild thrill
of the heart, Greeba saw those twain together, and it cost her all
she had of patience and self-command not to break in upon them with a
shower of rapturous kisses. But she held back her heart like a dog on
the leash and listened, while her eyes rained tears and her lips
smiled, to the words that passed between them.

"And what's your name, my sweet one?" said Sunlocks in English.

"Michael," lisped the little man.

"So? And an Englishman, too. That's brave."

"Ot's the name of _your_ 'ickle boy?"

"Ah, I've got none, sweetheart."

"Oh."

"But if I had one perhaps his name would be Michael also."

"Oh."

The little eyes looked up into the blind face, and the little lip
began to fall. Then, by a sudden imp