The short young grass was dotted with
dandelion blooms, some of them already grown to huge disks of
yellow, and Patty moved hither and thither, selecting the younger
weeds, deftly putting the broken knife under their roots and
popping them into the tin pan. Presently, for Deacon Baxter had
finished the wagon and gone down the hill to relieve Cephas Cole
at the counter, Patty's shrill young whistle floated into the
kitchen, but with a mischievous glance at the open window she
broke off suddenly and began to sing the words of the hymn with
rather more emphasis and gusto than strict piety warranted.
"There'll be SOMEthing in heav-en for chil-dren to do,
None are idle in that bless-ed land:
There'll be WORK for the heart. There'll be WORK for the mind,
And emPLOYment for EACH little hand.
"There'll be SOME-thing to do,
There'll be SOME-thing to do,
There'll be SOME-thing for CHIL-dren to do!
On that bright blessed shore where there's joy evermore,
There'll be SOME-thing for CHIL-DREN to do."
Patty's young existence being full to the brim of labor, this
view of heaven never in the least appealed to her and she
rendered the hymn with little sympathy. The main part of the
verse was strongly accented by jabs at the unoffending dandelion
roots, but when the chorus came she brought out the emphatic
syllables by a beat of the broken knife on the milkpan.
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