e ladies
tried to arrange for the singing of the children instead. He had no
knowledge of music, which was then thought a rather doubtful
accomplishment for a young man, and Mrs Thorpe had, if possible, less,
so all that could be done was for Dora to train the children by ear; and
she found that their thin, shrill notes were held as painful by all save
a few doting mothers, her sisters, and herself. The captain laughed at
her, and finally promised her a grinding organ. It came; it could play
four tunes, and all the singers were naturally offended. But on the
first Sunday there was a great catastrophe, for when once set on it
would not stop, but went on playing its four tunes long after the Old
Hundredth was finished. Mr Harford waited to begin the Prayer for King
George till it had finished, hoping that it would stop, if not at the
end of the second tune at least at the fourth; but, behold, it started
off with the Old Hundredth again, upon which Captain Carbonel emerged
from his pew, and, with the help of Master Pucklechurch, bore it out
into the churchyard, where it continued to play till after the service,
when there was time to check its pertinacity by adjustment of the
machinery. At its best, the singers--even George Hewlett--were much
hurt, and the compromise was made that it never should uplift its voice
when they were present in full force with bass, flute, and viol, but
should only draw forth its four tunes when there were only the children
to need the accompaniment.

Even then, Dan Hewlett, who unluckily had the best voice of all, swore
that he would never come to church again while "they had that there
horgin to buzz away like a big bumbledore;" and he kept his word.

"You see, ma'am, he has his feelings," said Molly.

He would fain have made all his family join in the secession; but
Johnnie would not be kept away from Sunday School; and Molly had heard
rumours of penny clubs and of prizes at Christmas so, though the other
children were very irregular, she kept them on after a fashion.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

AN UNPROFITABLE CROP.

"My mother bids me bind my hair."--_Old Ballad_.

"Oh Mary, Mary, what is to be done about the hair?" cried Sophy, one
Sunday after church.

"Isn't it dreadful?" said Dora. "Those fearful curl-papers sticking out
with rolls of old newspapers! I told them it was not fit to be seen
last Sunday, but there were even Elizabeth and Jane Hewlett in them
to-day."

"Yes,"