ng, her gravest fault, was not nearly
so evident as usual. The audience, unfamiliar with these particular
instruments, was not hypercritical, and so long as the players kept well
together, and sounded no discords, their skill was judged to be
excellent. The Barcarolle had an attractive swing about it, and a
romantic suggestion of gondolas and lapping water and moonlight
serenades. As the last notes of the air on the mandoline died away,
Winona swept her thumb over the strings of her guitar in a tremendous
final chord. It had quite a magnificent and professional effect. There
was no mistake about the applause; it was simply clamorous.

"Stand up and bow!" whispered Margaret, nudging the unaccustomed
performers. "That's right! Bow again! It's most clearly an encore. Have
you brought anything else with you? Good biz! Don't waste any more time,
then. We're rather late."

The song that Winona had chosen was a bright little Irish ditty, with a
catchy tune and lively accompaniment. Garnet played the air softly on
the mandoline, and the two girls sang in unison, keeping strictly
together, and pronouncing very plainly, so that the point of the amusing
words should not be lost. The audience shrieked with laughter, and would
have demanded a further encore, had not Margaret pointed to the clock,
and shaken her head firmly. There were other items on the program and
time was going all too fast.

Another violin solo, a recitation and a Highland fling followed; then
the concert wound up with a Christy Minstrel song from several members
of the Sixth. This last was the triumph of the afternoon. Patricia
prided herself on her preparations. She had placed a newspaper inside
the grand piano over the strings, and when the hammers struck against it
the effect of the accompaniment was exactly that of a banjo. She had
borrowed two sets of castanets, a pair of cymbals, and a triangle, and
with these loud-sounding instruments she and her companions emphasized
the chorus. Garnet and Winona helped with mandoline and guitar, so the
general result was quite orchestral. During the performance of this
chef-d'oeuvre some of the prefects went round with collecting bags,
which were passed along the benches.

"Come, my dark-eyed honey,
And help to spend my money,"

chanted the minstrels lustily, and the audience smiled at the
appropriateness of the words.

It was felt that the Symposium had been an enormous success. The girls
were quite loa