y?--because he goes on guard,
to-night, according to custom."

"On guard!" repeated Bellew, "I'm afraid I don't understand."

"Of course you don't, sir," chuckled Peterday, "well then, to-night he
marches away--in full regimentals, sir,--to mount guard. And--where, do
you suppose?--why, I'll tell you,--under Miss Priscilla's window! He
gets there as the clock is striking eleven, and there he stays, a
marching to and fro, until twelve o'clock. Which does him a world o'
good, sir, and noways displeases Miss Priscilla,--because why?--because
she don't know nothing whatever about it." Hereupon, Peterday rose, and
crossing to a battered sea-man's chest in the corner, came back with
three or four tin whistles which he handed to Bellew, who laid aside his
pipe, and, having selected one, ran tentatively up and down the scale
while Peterday listened attentive of ear, and beaming of face.

"Sir," said he, "what do you say to 'Annie Laurie' as a start--shall we
give 'em 'Annie Laurie'?--very good!--ready?--go!"

Thus, George Bellew, American citizen, and millionaire, piped away on a
tin whistle with all the gusto in the world,--introducing little trills,
and flourishes, here and there, that fairly won the one-legged
sailor's heart.

They had already "given 'em" three or four selections, each of which had
been vociferously encored by Peterday, or Bellew,--and had just finished
an impassioned rendering of the "Suwanee River," when the Sergeant
appeared with his boots beneath his arm.

"Shipmate!" cried Peterday, flourishing his whistle, "did ye ever hear a
tin whistle better played, or mellerer in tone?"

"Meller--is the only word for it, comrade,--and your playing sirs,
is--artistic--though doleful. P'raps you wouldn't mind giving us
something brighter--a rattling quick-step? P'raps you might remember one
as begins:

'Some talk of Alexander
And some, of Hercules;'

if it wouldn't be troubling you too much?"

Forthwith they burst forth into "The British Grenadiers?" and never did
tin whistles render the famous old tune with more fire, and dash. As the
stirring notes rang out, the Sergeant, standing upon the hearth, seemed
to grow taller, his broad chest expanded, his eyes glowed, a flush crept
up into his cheek, and the whole man thrilled to the music as he had
done, many a time and oft, in years gone by. As the last notes died
away, he glanced down at the empty sleeve pinned across his breast,
shook his head, and