Oh! I know all about her, Alec told me," continued
Teenie with a knowing shake of her ruddy curls. "And she'll have a
string of hearts dangling to her apron, if she wears one, before the
month is out, so you'd better mind out, Barney."

But Barney was not heeding her. "Hush!" he said, holding up his hand,
for again the voice was rising up clear and full into the night silence.
Even Teenie's chatter was subdued and no one moved till the verse was
finished.

"She'll be needing a boarding house, Barney," continued Teenie wickedly.
"You'll just need to take her with you to the Mill."

"Indeed, and there will be no such lassie as yon in my house," said the
mother, speaking sharply.

"She has no mother," said Margaret softly, "and she will need a place."

"Yes, that she will," replied Mrs. Boyle, "and I know very well where
she will be going, too, and you with four little ones to do for, not to
speak of the minister, the hardest of the lot." Mrs. Boyle was evidently
seriously angered.

"Man! What a voice!" breathed Barney, and, making fast the horse to the
waggon, he set off for the barn apparently oblivious of all about him.

"Begorra, ma'am, an' savin' yer prisince, there's nobody knows what's in
that lad. But he'll stir the world yit, an' so he will. An' that's what
the ould Doctor said, so it was."

When Barney reached the barn floor the Southern girl had just finished
her song, and with her guitar still in her hands was idly strumming its
strings. The moonlight fell about her in a flood so bright as to reveal
the ivory pallor of her face and the lustrous depths of her dark eyes.
It was a face of rare and romantic beauty framed in soft, fluffy, dark
hair, brushed high off the forehead and gathered in a Greek knot at the
back of her head. But besides the beauty of face and eyes, there was
an air of gentle, appealing innocence that awakened the chivalrous
instincts latent in every masculine heart, and a lazy, languorous grace
that set her in striking contrast to the alert, vigorous country maids
so perfectly able to care for themselves, asking odds of no man. When
the singing ceased Barney came out of the shadow at his father's side,
and, reaching for the violin, said, "Let me spell you a bit, Dad."

At his voice Dick, who was across the floor beside the singer, turned
quickly and, seeing Barney, sprang for him, shouting, "Hello! you
old whale, you!" The father hastily pulled his precious violin out of
danger.