The little girl trailing roses in a pirouette-line paraded straight through Charles Park, by the geese by the water-spitting basin by the gray man in a charcoal news cap sleeping on a bench, and as she moved she hummed Lully lullay lully lullay. The roses she pulled from a white wicker basket hanging by her left arm: and she pulled with an unpracticed charm, a delight to the old women who popped into the backs of churches, sometimes, to watch the processions of the brides and grooms, then disappear out the garlanded door.