familiar one, the entire circle
joined in the chorus. At such times Sandy was always on hand, singing
with the loudest and telling his story with the best.

"Make de jolly little Irish one to sing by hisself!" called a woman
one night from the edge of the crowd. The invitation was taken up and
repeated on every side. Sandy, laughing and protesting, was pushed to
the front. Being thus suddenly forced into prominence, he suffered an
acute attack of stage fright.

"Chirp up there now and give us a tune!" cried some one behind him.

"Can't ye remember none?" asked another.

"Sure," said Sandy, laughing sheepishly; "but they all come wrong end
first."

Some one had thrust an old guitar in his hands, and he stood
nervously picking at the strings. He might have been standing there
still had not the moon come to his rescue. It climbed slowly out of
the sea and sent a shimmer of silver and gold over the water, across
the deck, and into his eyes. He forgot himself and the crowd. The
stream of mystical romance that flows through the veins of every true
Irishman was never lacking in Sandy. His heart responded to the
beautiful as surely as the echo answers the call.

He seized the guitar, and picking out the notes with clumsy, faltering
fingers, sang:

"Ah! The moment was sad when my love and I parted,
Savourneen deelish, signan O!"

His boyish voice rang out clear and true, softening on the refrain to
an indescribable tenderness that steeped the old song in the very
essence of mystery and love.

"As I kiss'd off her tears, I was nigh broken-hearted!--
Savourneen deelish, signan O!"

He could remember his mother singing him to sleep by it, and the
bright red of her lips as they framed the words:

"Wan was her cheek which hung on my shoulder;
Chill was her hand, no marble was colder;
I felt that again I should never behold her;
Savourneen deelish, signan O!"

As the song trembled to a close, a slight burst of applause came from
the cabin deck. Sandy looked up, frowned, and bit his lip. He did not
know why, but he was sorry he had sung.

The next morning the _America_ sailed into New York harbor, band
playing and flags flying. She was bringing home a record and a
jubilant crew. On the upper decks passengers were making merry over
what is probably the most joyful parting in the world. In the steerage
all was bustle and confusion and anticipation of the disembarking.

Eagerly, wi