adn't got to beg for our bread like de dogs.
Oho you and de banjo."

Bob's voice became more and more plaintive; he sat in a drooping
attitude with his head on one side as he finished,--

"But it ain't no good all dis singin' out of tune,
For we can't get warm, tho' they say it's hot for June;
It's certain for darkies dis is not de place,
Where eben de sun am ashamed to show his face.
Oho you and de banjo."

"So that is your opinion of England, is it?" asked Miss Chase.
"Well, I am not surprised you don't want to come, then."

"But of course it is all stuff, and nothing but a silly old darkie
song," said Eustace.

"You wait till you get there, young man," said Bob, still with an
air of mock gloom about him; "you'll remember my warning then. It
is so cold in England the natives have their windows glued in to
keep out the air, and they have front doors as thick as walls, all
studded with nails and brass knockers."

"But what are the brass knockers for?" asked Nesta. "They wouldn't
keep you warm."

"Certainly not," was the answer; "the brass knockers are for the
purpose of waking the people inside the house, who are always
asleep with the cold--like dormice."

"Mother," demanded Eustace, "do you think he ought to have any tea
after that? He hasn't done penance, and he isn't a bit sorry. He is
making it worse and worse."

"I think, darling, as he is a guest he must have his tea," Mrs.
Orban said; "but I will send a note by him to his mother to say he
has not been good."

"I'm not going home to-night--so there," said Bob complacently;
"I'm going to sleep in a hammock on the veranda."

"Oh, jolly!" exclaimed every one, and there was a chorus of, "We
can stay up late, can't we, just for to-night--Aunt Dorothy's first
night?"

But Aunt Dorothy did not allow the compliment to deceive her. Not
for her but for Bob Cochrane did the young people want to stay up
later. He was certainly a great favourite.

CHAPTER IX.

A RIDERLESS HORSE.

It was a delightfully merry evening. Bob had to re-do his
punishment and sing several songs, and then he struck.

"I am quite sure Miss Chase sings," he declared. "It's her turn
now. Witches ought to be punished even more severely than
traitors."

She made no demur, but sat down to the piano and began to sing. But
in the middle of her song such a noise began over her head that she
dropped her hands laughingly, and exclaimed,--