ling.

"Oh, Uncle Harry!" cried Flossie, "what difference would it make?"

"All the difference in the world," declared Uncle Harry, "for while the
proper melody would set the princess free, how are we to know that the
wrong melody might not chain her closer than before!"

"Why, the story doesn't say that," said Nancy.

"Perhaps not, but the prince took an _awful_ risk when he chose what to
sing," declared Uncle Harry.

"You're laughing when you say it," said Dorothy.

"He is," agreed Flossie, "and what he says is funny, but I know this:
I'd love to hear some one singing under _my_ window!"

Some ladies, who sat near enough to hear the conversation, were amused
at the children's enthusiasm, and at Uncle Harry's evident interest.

"The prince had his guitar slung over his shoulder by a ribbon," said
Dorothy. "See the picture," and she slipped from the hammock, and
offered the book that he might see the illustration.

"I'm glad he carried his guitar instead of a banjo," he said.

"Why are you glad of that?" Flossie asked.

"Oh, because I really _am_, in fact, I might even say I am delighted,"
he replied.

"I do believe he intends to serenade those children," said a handsome
woman, to her friend who sat beside her; "he is a brilliant man, and one
who is blessed with many talents, and one of his greatest charms is his
love of children. He will go far out of his way to afford them a bit of
fun."

That evening, when nearly every one had left the piazza, and all of the
children were in their rooms, the soft twanging of guitar strings
floated up toward Flossie's window.

She was not yet asleep, and she sat up in bed, and listened.

Yes, it was a guitar! Was it Uncle Harry's?

A little prelude softly played, drew her toward the window.

She crept closer, and peeped out. Yes, there he was, looking right up
toward her window.

Now his fine voice was softly singing, and Flossie held her breath.

"Under thy window, my little lady,
Under thy window, Flossie dear,
Here where the moonbeams softly flicker,
Sing I this song that you may hear.

"Moonlight, and starlight weave enchantment,
Yet shall my song your freedom bring,
You shall be happy little lady,
Give me your love for the song I sing."

"Oh, Uncle Harry, you have it _now_!" cried Flossie. "I love you, when
you're singing, and _all_ the time."

"I know that, dear lit