her place in front of the motley gathering to give an exhibition
of her whistling, the big door swung noiselessly, and the company from
the great house arrived in a body,--the Judge's wife and daughter, their
guests, the Sherrars, and the minister and his small family. They looked
very much surprised to find the place crowded to its utmost capacity,
but were even more astonished when, after a preliminary bar or so on the
mouth-organ, Dick Sullivan began softly to play _The Blue-bells of
Scotland_, and Peace's red lips took up the melody, whistling with
beautiful accuracy and clearness, trilling through measure after measure
with bird-like notes, following all of Dick's variations, and adding a
few of her own under the inspiration lent by the presence of her beloved
friends.

"Cecile," exclaimed her friend Frances, "why didn't you tell me you had
such a genius in your midst? I'd have been out here the first one to
hear the whole program. Why, she looks like an angel, and her whistling
is divine. Who is she?"

"Peace Greenfield," answered Cecile, almost too amazed for speech, for
this was the first time she herself had ever heard the young whistler.
"Father calls her the dearest little nuisance in town. She is one of the
most original pieces I ever saw in my life--always into mischief, and
always trying to help someone. But truly, I had no idea she could
whistle like that. Mr. Strong, what do you think of it?"

"She is doing splendidly!" he whispered enthusiastically. "She is a
regular genius at it. Why, a year ago she came to me and begged _me_ to
teach her."

"So she is a pupil of yours?" asked Mrs. Sherrar, as much enchanted with
the musician as were her young people.

"Not exactly. I helped her what I could, but I think most of the credit
belongs to Mike O'Hara and the birds in the woods. He set her to
imitating them; and she is an apt mimic, you will find. Clap with all
your might."

The very rafters rang with the applause of the enthusiastic audience, as
the small whistler took her seat among her mates on the platform, and
she was forced to give another selection, and a third. Allee came to
her aid in the fourth, and sang to a whistled accompaniment, but the
applause was more tremendous and insistent than before; and poor, weary
Peace rose to her feet for the fifth time, but instead of pouring forth
the torrent of melody they expected, she faced the audience
belligerently, and cried in exasperation, "My puck