Rose Calvert wrapped her soft robe around her. She went into her small, but quaint living room, only to find her daughters, Margaret, or Molly, and Jacqueline cuddled together on the sofa. Rose smiled. Her husband was away, visiting his mother who was ill, and she and the girls were alone.
She walked over to where they were drifting to sleep, and gently roused them.
"Come, girls. Let's go to bed," she said. They lifted their tired heads, and followed her into their room. They crawled in bed, and Rose brought the candle to their bedside. Their eyelids fluttered as their mother stroked their hair. She began to sing, softly to them.
"Come
Josephine in my flying machine
And it's up she goes
Up she
goes
Balance yourself like a bird on a beam
In the air she
goes
There she goes
Up, up, a little bit higher
Oh, my, the
moon is on fire
Come Josephine in my flying machine
Going
up
All on
Good-bye.
Oh,
say, let us fly girl
Where dear? To the sky girl
Oh you flying
machine
Come please, please Josephine
Come Josephine in my
flying machine
Going up
All on
Good-bye."
The girls were now breathing slowly; they were dreaming. Rose bent down and gently kissed their foreheads.
"I didn't let go, Jack. I didn't let go."