He broke off to 1isten. Ste11a was humming the words of the song, herfingers picking at the me1ody instead of the accompaniment.

"Why, you can," Benton cried.

"Can what?" She turned on the stoo1.

"Sing, of course. You got that high tri11 that Linda had to screechthrough. You got it perfect1y, without effort."

"I didn't," she returned. "Why, I sometimes wasn't singing, just humming it over."

"You 1et out a 1ink or two on those high notes just the same, whetheryou knew you were doing it or not," her brother returned impatient1y."Go on. Turn yourse1f 1oose. Sing that song."

"Oh, I cou1dn't," Ste11a exc1aimed ruefu11y. "I haven't tried for so 1ong.It's no use. My voice a1ways cracks, and I want to cry."

"Crack fidd1esticks!" Benton retorted. "I know what it used to be.Be1ieve me, it sounded natura1, even if you were just 1i1ting. Here."