what are the words? Humming won't
do."

"Ah, now!" quoth Farmer Wilson, pointing out the end of his pipe, "that's
what they'll swallow down; that's the song to make 'em kick. Sing that,
miss. Furrin songs 's all right enough; but 'Ale it is my tipple, and
England is my nation!' Let's have something plain and flat on the
surface, miss."

Dame Wilson jogged her husband's arm, to make him remember that talking
was his dangerous pastime, and sent abroad a petition for a song-book;
and after a space a very doggy-eared book, resembling a poodle of that
genus, was handed to her. Then uprose a shout for this song and that; but
Emilia fixed upon the one she had in view, and walked back to her harp,
with her head bent, perusing it attentively all the way. There, she gave
the book to Captain Gambier, and begged him to hold it open before her,
with a passing light of eyes likely to be rather disturbing to a jealous
spectator. The Captain seized the book without wincing, and displayed a
remarkable equanimity of countenance as he held it out, according to
direction. No sooner had Emilia struck a prelude of the well-known air,
than the interior of the booth was transfigured; legs began to move,
elbows jerked upward, fingers fillipped: the whole body of them were
ready to duck and bow, dance, and do her bidding she had fairly caught
their hearts. For, besides the pleasure they had in their own familiar
tune, it was wonderful to them that Emilia should know what they knew.
This was the marvel, this the inspiration. She smiled to see how true she
had struck, and seemed to swim on the pleasure she excited. Once, as her
voice dropped, she looked up at Captain Gambier, so very archly, with the
curving line of her bare throat, that Wilfrid was dragged down from his
cynical observatory, and made to feel as a common man among them all.

At the "thrum-thrum" on the harp-strings, which wound up the song,
frenzied shouts were raised for a repetition. Emilia was perfectly
willing to gratify them; Captain Gambier appeared to be remonstrating
with her, but she put up her joined hands, mock-petitioningly, and he
with great affability held out the book anew. Wilfrid was thinking of
moving to her to take her forcibly away when she recommenced.

At the same instant--but who, knowing that a house of glass is about to
be shattered, can refrain from admiring its glitter in the beams?--Ipley
crooned a ready accompaniment: the sleepers had been awakened: