ed through the Catskills till I
know them like a book. Even the Rockies did not appeal to me in this
way."

"It is not the environment, but the viewpoint, Jim," Aunt Betty said.
"The nights in the Catskills are just as beautiful as here; it
happens that you have never thought of the wonders of nature in quite
the same way in which you have had them brought home to you
to-night. I daresay you will never spend another night in any
mountains, however, without thinking of the transcendent beauty of it
all."

"There is something in the air that makes me feel like singing," said
Gerald.

"Then by all means indulge yourself," Dorothy advised.

"Let's form a quartette," said Molly. "I can sing a fair alto."

"And I can't sing anything--can't even carry an air," Aurora put in
in a regretful voice. "But Gerald has a fine tenor voice, and perhaps
Dorothy can take the soprano and Jim the bass."

In this way it was arranged, Dorothy being appointed leader.

"First of all, what shall we sing?" she wanted to know.

"Oh, any old thing," said Jim.

"No; not any old thing. It must be something with which we are all
familiar."

"Well, let's make it a medley of old Southern songs," suggested
Gerald.

"An excellent idea," said Aunt Betty, while Ephraim was so delighted
at the suggestion that he clapped his hands in the wildest
enthusiasm.

So Dorothy, carrying the air, started off into "The Old Folks At
Home."

Never, thought Aunt Betty, had the old tune sounded so beautiful, as,
with those clear young voices ringing out on the still air of the
summer's night, and when the last words,

Way down upon the Suwanee River,
Far from the old folks at home,

had died away, she was ready and eager for more. "Old Black Joe,"
followed, then "Dixie," and finally "Home, Sweet Home," that classic
whose luster time never has or never will dim, and which brought the
tears to her eyes as it brought back recollections of childhood days.

Then, as if to mingle gayety with sadness, Ephraim was induced to
execute a few of his choicest steps on a hard, bare spot of ground
under one of the big oak trees, while Jim and Gerald whistled "Turkey
in the Straw," and kept time with their hands. The old negro's
agility was surprising, his legs and feet being as nimble,
apparently, as when, years before as a young colored lad, he had gone
through practically the same performance for Aunt Betty, then in the
flower of her young womanhood.