Wally. I wouldn't deprive you of him
for the world. I suppose I must have this youngster. Let's hear him
sing first."

"Yes, lamb's singing. Now, you two, one at a time. Who's first?
Alphabetical order."

Ashby, with an inward groan, mounted the rostrum. If anything could
have been more cruel than the noise which greeted his appearance, it was
the dead silence which followed it. Fellows sat round, staring him out
of countenance with critical faces, and rejoicing in his embarrassment.

"What's the title!" demanded some one.

"I don't know any songs," said Ashby presently, "and I can't sing."

"Ho, ho! we've heard that before. Come, forge ahead."

"I only know the words of one that my con--somebody I know--sings,
called the _Vigil_. I don't know the tune."

"That doesn't matter--out with it."

So Ashby, pulling himself desperately together, plunged recklessly into
the following appropriate ditty; which, failing its proper tune, he
manfully set at the top of his voice, and with all the energy he was
capable of, to the air of the _Vicar of Bray_--

The stealthy night creeps o'er the lea,
My darling, haste away with me.
Beloved, come I see where I stand,
With arms outstretched upon the strand.

The night creeps on; my love is late,
O love, my love, I wait, I wait;
The soft wind sighs mid crag and pine;
Haste, O my sweet; be mine, be mine!

This spirited song, the last two lines of which were aught up as a
chorus, fairly brought down the house; and Ashby, much to his surprise,
found himself famous. He had no idea he could sing so well, or that the
fellows would like the words as much as they seemed to do. Yet they
cheered him and encored him, and yelled the chorus till the roof almost
fell in.

"Bravo," shouted every one, the captain himself included, as he
descended from the table; "that's a ripping song."

"That sends up the price of our fag, I fancy," said Denton to his chum.
"Your young brother won't beat that."

"Next man in," shouted Wheatfield, hustling forward Fisher minor. "Now,
kid, lamm it on and show them what you can do."

"Title! title!" cried the meeting.

Now, if truth must be told, Fisher minor had come to Fellsgarth
determined that whatever else he failed in, he would make a hit at
"lamb's singing." He had made a careful calculation as to what sort of
song would go down with the company and at the same time redeem his
reputation from all suspicion of green