ce begin, sir," added the cheerful Pedgift, "you'll find it
get uncommonly easy as you go on. Music is a science which requires to
be taken by the throat at starting."

"With all my heart," said Allan, in his good-humored way. "I know lots
of tunes, but the worst of it is, the words escape me. I wonder if I
can remember one of Moore's Melodies? My poor mother used to be fond of
teaching me Moore's Melodies when I was a boy."

"Whose melodies?" asked Mrs. Pentecost. "Moore's? Aha! I know Tom Moore
by heart."

"Perhaps in that case you will be good enough to help me, ma'am, if my
memory breaks down," rejoined Allan. "I'll take the easiest melody in
the whole collection, if you'll allow me. Everybody knows it--'Eveleen's
Bower.'"

"I'm familiar, in a general sort of way, with the national melodies of
England, Scotland, and Ireland," said Pedgift Junior. "I'll accompany
you, sir, with the greatest pleasure. This is the sort of thing, I
think." He seated himself cross-legged on the roof of the cabin, and
burst into a complicated musical improvisation wonderful to hear--a
mixture of instrumental flourishes and groans; a jig corrected by a
dirge, and a dirge enlivened by a jig. "That's the sort of thing," said
young Pedgift, with his smile of supreme confidence. "Fire away, sir!"

Mrs. Pentecost elevated her trumpet, and Allan elevated his voice.
"Oh, weep for the hour when to Eveleen's Bower--" He stopped; the
accompaniment stopped; the audience waited. "It's a most extraordinary
thing," said Allan; "I thought I had the next line on the tip of my
tongue, and it seems to have escaped me. I'll begin again, if you have
no objection. 'Oh, weep for the hour when to Eveleen's Bower--'"

"'The lord of the valley with false vows came,'" said Mrs. Pentecost.

"Thank you, ma'am," said Allan. "Now I shall get on smoothly. 'Oh, weep
for the hour when to Eveleen's Bower, the lord of the valley with false
vows came. The moon was shining bright--'"

"No!" said Mrs. Pentecost.

"I beg your pardon, ma'am," remonstrated Allan. "'The moon was shining
bright--'"

"The moon wasn't doing anything of the kind," said Mrs. Pentecost.

Pedgift Junior, foreseeing a dispute, persevered _sotto voce_ with the
accompaniment, in the interests of harmony.

"Moore's own words, ma'am," said Allan, "in my mother's copy of the
Melodies."

"Your mother's copy was wrong," retorted Mrs. Pentecost. "Didn't I tell
you just now that I knew Tom Moore by