join in the chorus," commanded Hippy Wingate. There
was an answering tinkle from Reddy's mandolin, the deeper notes of a
guitar sounded, then eight care-free young voices were raised in the
plaintive chorus of "My Old Kentucky Home."

It was a warm night in September. Miriam Nesbit and seven of the Eight
Originals were spending a last evening together on the Harlowes'
hospitable veranda. They were on the eve of separation. The following
day would witness Nora's and Jessica's departure for the conservatory.
Grace and Miriam would return to Overton at the beginning of the next
week, and the latter part of the same week would find the four young men
entered upon their senior year in college.

"Very fine, indeed," commented Hippy, "but in order to sing properly one
ought to drink a great deal of lemonade. It is very conducive to a grand
opera voice," he added, confiscating several cakes from the plate Grace
passed to him and holding out his empty lemonade glass.

"But you haven't a grand opera voice," protested David. "That is only a
flimsy excuse."

"We won't discuss the matter in detail," returned Hippy with dignity. "I
am prepared to prove the truth of what I say. I will now render a
selection from 'Il Trovatore.' I will sing the imprisoned lover's
song--"

"Not if I have anything to say about it," growled Reddy.

"Suit yourself, suit yourself," declared Hippy, shrugging his shoulders.
"You boys will be sorry if you don't let me sing, though."

"Is that a threat?" inquired Tom Gray with pretended belligerence.

"A threat?" repeated Hippy. "No, it is a fact. I am contemplating a
terrible revenge. That is, I haven't really begun to contemplate it yet.
I am just getting ready. But when I do start--well, you'll see."

"I think it would be delightful to hear you sing, 'Ah, I Have Sighed to
Rest Me,' Hippy," broke in Nora sweetly, a mischievous twinkle in her
eyes.

"Can I believe my ears? The stony, unsympathetic Nora O'Malley agrees
with me at last. She likes my voice; she wishes to hear me sing, 'Ah, I
Have Sighed to Rest Me.' 'Tis true, I _have_ sighed to rest me a great
many times, particularly in the morning when the alarm clock put an end
to my dreams. It is a beautiful selection."

"Then, why not sing it?" asked Nora demurely.

"Because I don't know it," replied Hippy promptly.

"Just as I suspected," commented Nora in disgust. "That is precisely why
I asked you to sing."

"What made you suspect me?" i