ll regret it."

"It's high treason," shouted Eustace. "England is our country. Off
with his head."

Then suddenly Miss Chase saw what her nephews and nieces really
were like.

"He has got to be punished," Nesta sang out.

Peter and Becky made a simultaneous dive at the unfortunate Bob,
who had begun whistling with a great show of unconcern.

"What's his punishment to be?" demanded Eustace.

Mrs. Orban thought a minute while Peter suggested pommelling, and
Nesta mentioned a few tortures in the way of old-fashioned
forfeits.

"It's too hot for violent exercise," said Bob, when Nesta requested
him to walk round the room three times on his head. "I shall go
home to mother if I am ill-used."

"Have some tea, Bob," said Mr. Orban.

"No, no," cried the bullying trio, "not till he has paid his
penalty for high treason."

"Well," said Mrs. Orban gently, "suppose you fetch the banjo and
make him sing for his tea."

"Good! Good!" was the immediate acclamation.

Bob sat down resignedly.

"I don't think a crueller sentence could have been passed," he said
with a mock groan.

"Between ourselves," said Mrs. Orban, as the children rushed into
the drawing-room to fetch the banjo, "there is no tea in the pot,
and you may as well sing till the kettle is boiling."

Bob took the banjo with the air of a martyr and tuned it skilfully.

"I choose my own song," he said, struck a few chords, and began, in
his really beautiful voice,--

"Dey told us darkies right away out west
In England men make der money much de best,
And I believed dat ebry word was true,
So dat is why I come along wid you.
Oho you and de banjo."

"Oh, oh, oh," interrupted the children, "more treason! If you sing
that song you will have to do another as well."

"You can't hang a man after his head is cut off," said Bob
stolidly, and went on,--

"But now we're here, why, de money doesn't grow,
And we ain't got nuffin' but de old banjo:
So we rove the streets if de wedder's wet or dry,
Till my heart most breaks and der's water in your eye.
Oho you and de banjo."

"Most pathetic," said Miss Chase, with a twinkle in her dark eyes.
"I think I begin to see where Mr. Cochrane gets his revolutionary
sentiments from."

"Then in sleep at night de nigger dreams ob home,
Where de sun really shines and de frosts nebber come,
Where we'd plenty to eat, and a little hut of logs,
And we h