ositing it upon his mother's lap; "now, sing it for
her; sing it right, mother. It's 'The Ram of Derby.'" This to Alexina,
with a sudden shyness as he found himself addressing her.

But she, unconscious soul, did not recognize it, hers being an
all-absorbed interest, and, reassured, young William went on:

"There was a William Ransome once, when he was little, sat on General
Washington's knee, and General Washington sang him 'The Ram of Derby.'
Go on, mother, sing it."

And Charlotte, with eyes laughing down on the two upturned faces,
"went on," her jewelled fingers bringing the touch of a practised hand
upon the strings, her buoyant figure responsive to the rhythm, while
into the Munchausen recital she threw a dash, a swing that rendered
the interest breathless.

"There was a ram of Derby
I've often heard it said,
He was the greatest sheep, sir,
That ever wore a head.
And if you don't believe me
And think I tell a lie,
Just go down to Derby
And see as well as I.

"The horns upon this ram, sir,
They reached up to the sky,
The eagles built their nest there,
For I heard the young ones cry.
And if you don't believe me, etc., etc.

"The wool upon this ram, sir,
It grew down to the ground,
The devil cut it off, sir,
To make a morning gown.
And if you don't believe me, etc., etc."

And so on through the tale. King William, at her knees, clapped his
hands. Alexina, by him, clapped hers, too, for joy of companionship,
while the third listener sat with unchanging countenance below. But he
liked it, somehow one knew he liked it, knew that he was listening
down there in the dusk.

Perhaps Charlotte knew it, too. The vibrant twang slowed to richer
chords, broke into rippling chromatic, caught a new measure, a minor
note, and her contralto began:

"I am going far away, far away to leave you now,
To the Mississippi River I am going--"

But this was only so much suggestion for her son's active brain.
"Tell her, mother," he begged, pulling at Charlotte's sleeve; "tell
her about the 'King William.'"

"And it has lain dormant, this egotism, unsuspected," came up from out
of the dusk.

Charlotte's fingers swept the chords, her eyes fixed adoringly on her
little son's face, the while she sang on, absently, softly:

"Down in my ol' cabin home,
There lies my sister an' my brother.
There lies my wife, the j