suppressed emotion burst into noise.
The Linley school-house had become as a fount of merry sound in the
still night; then the loud chorus of the bells, diminishing as they
went away, and breaking into streams of music and dying faint in
the far woodland.

One Nelson Cartright--a jack of all trades they called him--was the
singing-master. He was noted far and wide for song and penmanship.
Every year his intricate flourishes in black and white were on
exhibition at the county fair.

"Wal, sir," men used to say thoughtfully, "ye wouldn't think he
knew beans. Why, he's got a fist bigger'n a ham. But I tell ye,
let him take a pen, sir, and he'll draw a deer so nat'ral, sir,
ye'd swear he could jump over a six-rail fence. Why, it is
wonderful!"

Every winter he taught the arts of song and penmanship in the four
districts from Jericho to Cedar Hill. He sang a roaring bass and
beat the time with dignity and precision. For weeks he drilled the
class on a bit of lyric melody, of which a passage is here given:--

"One, two, three, ready, sing," he would say, his ruler cutting the
air, and all began:--

Listen to the bird, and the maid, and the bumblebee,
Tra, la la la la, tra, la la la la,
Joyfully we'll sing the gladsome melody,
Tra, la, la, la, la.

The singing-school added little to the knowledge or the
cheerfulness of that neighbourhood. It came to an end the last day
of the winter term. As usual, Trove went home with Polly. It was
a cold night, and as the crowd left them at the corners he put his
arm around her.

"School is over," said she, with a sigh, "and I'm sorry."

"For me?" he inquired.

"For myself," she answered, looking down at the snowy path.

There came a little silence crowded with happy thoughts.

"At first, I thought you very dreadful," she went on, looking up at
him with a smile. He could see her sweet face in the moonlight and
was tempted to kiss it.

"Why?"

"You were so terrible," she answered. "Poor Joe Beach! It seemed
as if he would go through the wall."

"Well, something had to happen to him," said the teacher.

"He likes, you now, and every one likes you here. I wish we could
have you always for a teacher."

"I'd be willing to be your teacher, always, if I could only teach
you what you have taught me."

"Oh, dancing," said she, merrily; "that is nothing. I'll give you
all the lessons you like."

"No, I shall not let you teach me that again," said h