"I shall have to
cheat on my X. Have I leave?"

"Well,--for once, perhaps," said his mother. "It must not be a
precedent, however. Let us hear!"

And Phil gave what he called "A Mewl of Music." "A bandit--cheerful
dog!--enjoyed fiddling. 'Go home!' insolently jawing ki-yied local
musician. 'Nay! Oh, peace, queasy rustic! Take unappreciated violin. We
execrate your zither!'"

"Yes!" said Mrs. Merryweather. "That is imperfect, but the first part is
good. Next?"

"I think," said Hildegarde, rather timidly, "I _think_ I have one ready.
I hope it is correct,--shall I try it? It is 'The Sea.' Amid briny,
cavernous depths, entrancing fishes gambol, hilarious, iridescent
jewels. Kittenish, laughing mermaids nod; or perhaps, quietly resting,
softly twine, under vanished wave-worn xebecs, yellow zoophytes."

"My dear Hildegarde, that is the best of all!" said Mrs. Merryweather,
warmly. "That is a little poem, a little picture. We shall have nothing
prettier than that to-night, and as we must not overdo a good thing,
suppose we stop the stories for this time, and try something else.
Where is our music, girls?"

Bell glanced at Hildegarde, and then at Colonel Ferrers. She had heard
something of the passages between Jack Ferrers and his uncle, and knew
that classical music was not the thing to make the Colonel enjoy
himself. But Hildegarde nodded brightly in return.

"Let us sing!" she said. "Let us all have a good sing, as we used at
camp. Where is the old song-book?"

Bell, comprehending, fetched an ancient volume, rubbed and thumbed into
a comfortable mellowness.

"Here it is!" she said. "Come, boys, now for a chorus! Sing it as we
used to sing it, sixteen campers strong, etc."

The whole family clustered round the piano, Kitty and Will and Hugh
close beside Bell, Hildegarde and Gertrude looking over their shoulders,
while Phil and Gerald did what the latter called the giraffe act in the
background. And then they sang! One song after another, each choosing in
turn, the chorus rolling out nobly, in such splendid songs as
"October," "A-hunting we will go," and "John Peel." Then Hildegarde must
sing "Annie Laurie" for the Colonel, and she sang it in a way that
brought tears to the eyes of the ladies, and made the Colonel himself
cough a good deal, and go to the window to study the weather.

"Ah, Colonel Ferrers," said Hildegarde, when the sweet notes had died
away, and it was time for the silence to be broken, "where