hour Albert said, "Come, now, sis, sing a little
for me; I am hungry to hear you once more."

She complied willingly, and as the mischievous heartbreaker never forgot
to pay an old score, the moment she was seated at the piano she began
with "Hold the Fort," and singing every verse of that, followed it with
"Pull for the Shore."

Her brother never winced, and after she had inflicted two more of those
well-worn gospel hymns upon him he quietly remarked, "My dear sis, you
are not punishing me for what I once said half as much as you think you
are. Sing some more of them; they sound like old times." And it was
true, too.

The latest and most classic compositions are all very well for highly
cultured ears afflicted with Wagnerian delirium; but for plain, ordinary
country-born people, such as Albert was, there is a sweet association in
the old songs first heard in childhood that no classic productions can
usurp. The "Quilting Party" will surely recall some moonlight walk home
with a boyhood sweetheart along a maple-shaded lane, when "on your arm a
soft hand rested," and "Money Musk" will carry you back to a lantern-lit
barn floor with one fiddler perched on a pile of meal bags; and how
delightful it was to clasp that same sweet girl's waist when "balance
and swing" came echoing from the rafters.

And so that evening, as the piquant voice of Alice Page trilled the list
from "Lily Dale" to "Suwanee River" and back to "Bonny Eloise" and
"Patter of the Rain," Albert lazily puffed his cigar and lived over his
boyhood days.

When the concert was ended he exclaimed:

"Do you know, sis, that an evening like this in Boston would seem like a
little taste of heaven to me, after I came back from the all-day grind
among hard-hearted, selfish men who think only of the mighty dollar! And
now you see why I want you to come to Boston to live."

It pleased that loving sister of his wonderfully, for as yet her brother
was far dearer than any other living person. No lover had so far usurped
his place or seemed to her as likely to. She gave him a grateful look
and smile that prompted him to say:

"Now I will look around before Christmas and see what kind of a flat can
be found, and then when your school closes you must come down and visit
me and see how you like Boston."

"Oh, that will be just delightful," was the rejoinder, "only you must
promise not to tell the Nasons that I am coming."

"But if they find it out, Blanch and Frank