y Eastman paused, amazed, and looked into each
other's faces in dismay. Sing?--had they ever sung duets? They had not
sung a note for years, except in church.

"But I don't know any songs, Miss Pinsett," stammered Mary Leonard.

"I have forgotten all I ever knew," echoed Lucy Eastman.

"No excuses, now--no excuses! You were always great for excuses, but
you would always sing for me. I want 'County Guy,' to begin with."

By a common impulse the visitors moved slowly towards the piano; they
would try, at least, since Miss Pinsett wanted them to. Lucy seated
herself and struck a few uncertain chords. Possibly the once familiar
room, Mary Leonard at her side, Miss Pinsett listening in her own
high-backed chair, the scent of the mignonette in the blue
bowl--possibly one or all of these things brought back the old tune.

"Ah, County Guy,
The hour is nigh,
The sun has left the lea."

The sweet, slender voice floated through the room, and Mary Leonard's
deeper contralto joined and strengthened it.

"Now, I will have 'Flow Gently, Sweet Afton,'" said Miss Pinsett, quite
as if it were a matter of course. And they sang "Flow Gently, Sweet
Afton." It was during the last verse that the parlor door opened
softly, and a tall, fine-looking man, erect, with beautiful silver
curling hair, and firm lines about the handsome, clean-shaven mouth,
appeared on the threshold and stood waiting. As the singing finished,
Miss Pinsett shook her head at him.

"You were always coming in and breaking up the singing, Tom Endover,"
she said.

The two women left the piano and came forward.

"You used to know Mary Greenleaf,--she's Mrs. Leonard now,--and Lucy
Eastman, Tom," she went on.

Apparently Mr. Endover was not heeding the introduction, but was coming
towards them with instant recognition and outstretched hand. They often
discussed afterward if he would have known them without Miss Pinsett.
Mary Leonard thought he would, but Lucy Eastman did not always agree
with her.

"You don't have to tell me who they are," he said, grasping their hands
cordially. "Telling Tom Endover who Mary Greenleaf and Lucy Eastman are,
indeed!" There was a mingling of courteous deference and frank, not to
be repressed, good comradeship in his manner which was delightful. Mary
Leonard's dimples came and went, and delicate waves of color flowed and
ebbed in Lucy Eastman's soft cheeks.

"I'm too old always to remember that ther