o months we got so we could play Old Hundred. I
don't pretend to say we could do it as glib as you run over the ivory,
ma'am; but it was Old Hundred, and no mistake. And we played Yankee
Doodle, first rate. We called our instrument the Harmolinks; and we
enjoyed it all the more because it was our own invention. I tell you
what, ma'am, there's music hid away in everything, only we don't know
how to bring it out."

"I think so," rejoined Mrs. Blumenthal. "Music is a sleeping beauty,
that needs the touch of a prince to waken her. Perhaps you will play
something for us, Mr. Bright?" She rose and vacated the music-stool as
she spoke.

"I should be ashamed to try my clumsy fingers in your presence,
ladies," he replied. "But I'll sing the Star-spangled Banner, if you
will have the goodness to accompany me."

She reseated herself, and he lifted up his voice and sang. When he had
done, he drew a long breath, wiped the perspiration from his face with
a bandana handkerchief, and laughed as he said: "I made the screen of
your gas-light shake, ma'am. The fact is, when I sing _that_, I _have_
to put all my heart into it."

"And all your voice, too," rejoined Mrs. Blumenthal.

"O, no," answered he, "I could have put on a good deal more steam, if
I hadn't been afraid of drowning the piano. I'm greatly obliged to
you, ladies; and I hope I shall have the pleasure of hearing you again
in my own house. I should like to hear some more now, but I've stayed
too long. My wife agreed to meet me at a store, and I don't know what
she'll say to me."

"Tell her we detained you by playing to you," said Mrs. Blumenthal.

"O, that would be too much like Adam," rejoined he. "I always feel
ashamed to look a woman in the face, after reading that story. I
always thought Adam was a mean cuss to throw off all the blame on
Eve." With a short bow, and a hasty "Good morning, ladies," he went
out.

His parting remark amused Flora so much, that she burst into one of
her musical peals of laughter; while her more cautious friend raised
her handkerchief to her mouth, lest their visitor should hear some
sound of mirth, and mistake its import.

"What a great, beaming face!" exclaimed Flora. "It looks like a
sunflower. I have a fancy for calling him Monsieur Girasol. What a
pity Mr. Green hadn't longed for a musical instrument, and been
too poor to buy one. It would have done him so much good to have
astonished himself by waking up a tune in the Harmolinks