outed something they could not catch.

'That was gipsy for "Thank you kindly, Brother and Sister,"' said
Pharaoh Lee.

He was standing behind them, his fiddle under his arm. 'Gracious, you
startled me!' said Una.

'You startled old Priscilla Savile,' Puck called from below them. 'Come
and sit by their fire. She ought to have put it out before they left.'

They dropped down the ferny side of the shaw. Una raked the ashes
together, Dan found a dead wormy oak branch that burns without flame,
and they watched the smoke while Pharaoh played a curious wavery air.

'That's what the girl was humming to the baby,' said Una.

'I know it,'he nodded, and went on:

'Ai Lumai, Lumai, Lumai! Luludia!
Ai Luludia!'

He passed from one odd tune to another, and quite forgot the children.
At last Puck asked him to go on with his adventures in Philadelphia and
among the Seneca Indians.

'I'm telling it,' he said, staring straight in front of him as he
played. 'Can't you hear?'

'Maybe, but they can't. Tell it aloud,' said Puck.

Pharaoh shook himself, laid his fiddle beside him, and began:

'I'd left Red Jacket and Cornplanter riding home with me after Big Hand
had said that there wouldn't be any war. That's all there was to it.
We believed Big Hand and we went home again--we three braves. When we
reached Lebanon we found Toby at the cottage with his waistcoat a foot
too big for him--so hard he had worked amongst the yellow-fever people.
He beat me for running off with the Indians, but 'twas worth it--I was
glad to see him,--and when we went back to Philadelphia for the winter,
and I was told how he'd sacrificed himself over sick people in the
yellow fever, I thought the world and all of him. No, I didn't neither.
I'd thought that all along. That yellow fever must have been something
dreadful. Even in December people had no more than begun to trinkle back
to town. Whole houses stood empty and the niggers was robbing them out.
But I can't call to mind that any of the Moravian Brethren had died. It
seemed like they had just kept on with their own concerns, and the good
Lord He'd just looked after 'em. That was the winter--yes, winter of
'Ninety-three--the Brethren bought a stove for the church. Toby spoke in
favour of it because the cold spoiled his fiddle hand, but many thought
stove-heat not in the Bible, and there was yet a third party which
always brought hickory coal foot-warmers to service and wouldn't
speak