ly, and the blind started
downward on its return to its place. Her fair forehead and eyes
vanished; her little mouth; her neck and shoulders; all of her. Then the
spot of candlelight shone nebulously as before; then it moved away.

"How pretty!" exclaimed Dick Dewy.

"If she'd been rale wexwork she couldn't ha' been comelier," said Michael
Mail.

"As near a thing to a spiritual vision as ever I wish to see!" said
tranter Dewy.

"O, sich I never, never see!" said Leaf fervently.

All the rest, after clearing their throats and adjusting their hats,
agreed that such a sight was worth singing for.

"Now to Farmer Shiner's, and then replenish our insides, father?" said
the tranter.

"Wi' all my heart," said old William, shouldering his bass-viol.

Farmer Shiner's was a queer lump of a house, standing at the corner of a
lane that ran into the principal thoroughfare. The upper windows were
much wider than they were high, and this feature, together with a broad
bay-window where the door might have been expected, gave it by day the
aspect of a human countenance turned askance, and wearing a sly and
wicked leer. To-night nothing was visible but the outline of the roof
upon the sky.

The front of this building was reached, and the preliminaries arranged as
usual.

"Four breaths, and number thirty-two, 'Behold the Morning Star,'" said
old William.

They had reached the end of the second verse, and the fiddlers were doing
the up bow-stroke previously to pouring forth the opening chord of the
third verse, when, without a light appearing or any signal being given, a
roaring voice exclaimed--

"Shut up, woll 'ee! Don't make your blaring row here! A feller wi' a
headache enough to split his skull likes a quiet night!"

Slam went the window.

"Hullo, that's a' ugly blow for we!" said the tranter, in a keenly
appreciative voice, and turning to his companions.

"Finish the carrel, all who be friends of harmony!" commanded old
William; and they continued to the end.

"Four breaths, and number nineteen!" said William firmly. "Give it him
well; the quire can't be insulted in this manner!"

A light now flashed into existence, the window opened, and the farmer
stood revealed as one in a terrific passion.

"Drown en!--drown en!" the tranter cried, fiddling frantically. "Play
fortissimy, and drown his spaking!"

"Fortissimy!" said Michael Mail, and the music and singing waxed so loud
that it was impossible to kno