turned darling like parent birds over a
strayed fledgeling which had come back to the nest. I took a seat apart,
and, joining in the conversation but rarely, studied the girl who sat in
a large rocking chair, and who talked as volubly and as entertainingly
as any one could have wished. She was, as Mr. Grundy had said, of medium
build. Her form was youthful, but possessed of that subtle roundness
which betokens the approach of womanhood. Two dainty feet darted in and
out beneath her skirt as she rocked to and fro. Her face was not
beautiful, but the features were delicate and fine. Her lips were as red
as rich blood could make them, the upper one pouting ever so slightly,
and the soft brown hair was parted in the middle and drawn back from an
exquisite forehead. The dark brown eyes were the girl's chief charm.
They danced and sparkled in impish mischief, and had a way of shooting
sudden glances which made themselves felt as keenly as arrows. And
crowning it all was a sweet grace and womanliness which was good to see.
From that hour my opinion of a school-girl changed.

After supper all of us gathered on the front porch. Mr. and Mrs. Grundy
occupied the settee; Salome and I sat upon the porch at the top of the
steps, she leaning against one pillar, and I against the other, across
from her. Of course she did the talking, and while most of it was about
the things which had happened at school, I found myself listening with
increasing interest. I soon discovered that it was the music of her
voice which held me,--soft, rich, speaking in perfect accents. Her
narrative was frequently interrupted by bursts of bubbling laughter, as
some amusing incident was remembered and related. Very suddenly she
stopped.

"Listen!" she said, and turned her head sideways, holding up one finger.

Through the silence which followed came the twanging notes of a banjo.

"It's Uncle Zeb!" she announced, in a loud whisper. Then to me,
impulsively, "Don't _you_ like music, Mr. Stone?"

She leaned towards me, as though it was a vital question which she had
propounded.

"Very dearly," I answered promptly. "This is the first that I have heard
since coming here."

"It's a jig, and he's playing it for me--the old darling! I must go to
him, or he would be hurt."

She arose swiftly, and gathered up her skirts.

"Will you come, Mr. Stone, since you love music? We won't stay long."

I mumbled something, and got up, a trifle confused. Such perfect can