your faces, but I can tell
something about each of you by your voices."

"Can you indeed?" cried Susan's little brother William, who was now
standing between the old man's knees. "It was my sister Susan who
spoke last. Can you tell us something about her?"

"That I can, I think," said the harper, lifting the little boy on his
knee. "Your sister Susan is good-natured."

William clapped his hands.

"And good-tempered."

"Right," said little William, clapping louder than before.

"And very fond of the little boy who sits on my knee."

"Oh! right, right, quite right!" exclaimed the child, and "quite
right" echoed on all sides.

"But how do you know so much, when you are blind?" said William,
looking hard at the old man.

"Hush!" whispered John, who was a year older than his brother and very
wise, "you should not remind him that he is blind."

"Though I am blind," said the harper, "I can hear, you know, and I
heard from your sister herself all that I told you of her, that she
was good-tempered and good-natured and fond of you."

"Oh, that's wrong--you did not hear all that from her, I'm sure," said
John, "for nobody ever hears her praising herself."

"Did not I hear her tell you," said the harper, "when you first came
round me, that she was in a great hurry to go home, but that she would
stay a little while, since you wished it so much? Was not that
good-natured? And when you said you did not like the tune she liked
best, she was not angry with you, but said, 'Then play William's
first, if you please.' Was not that good-tempered?"

"Oh, yes," said William, "it's all true; but how did you find out she
was fond of me?"

"That is such a hard question," said the harper, "that I must take
time to think."

He tuned his harp, as he thought, or seemed to think, and at this
instant two boys, who had been searching for birds' nests in the
hedges and who had heard the sound of the harp, came blustering up,
and pushing their way through the circle, one of them exclaimed,
"What's going on here? Who are you, my old fellow? A blind harper!
Well, play us a tune, if you can play a good one--play--let's see,
what shall he play, Bob?" added he, turning to his companion. "Play
'Bumper Squire Jones.'"

The old man, though he did not seem quite pleased with the way in
which he was asked, played "Bumper Squire Jones." Several tunes were
afterwards named by the same rough voice.

The little children shrunk back shyly, as the