have lost interest in his instrument.

Alfred repeatedly advised Lin that they never could be minstrels if they
did not have bones. He selected Billy Storey to perform on these
necessary adjuncts to the minstrels. When Lin brought home from John
Allison's meat shop a rib roast, the mother, astonished at the size of
it, said: "My goodness, Lin, that roast is big enough for any tavern in
town."

The fact was Lin had not closely studied the bone player's instruments.
She was of the opinion it required eight bones instead of four, hence
the magnitude of the roast.

The little band made the big front room the mecca for pilgrims nightly.
The mother was nearly frantic; after every concert of the embryotic
minstrels she solemnly admonished Lin and Alfred that that would be the
last.

Lin in turn would accuse Alfred of being the cause of all the din and
racket. "Ef it hadn't been fer Cousin Charley makin' Alfurd thet
infernal head drum (Lin could never say tambourine), Mary would never
sed a word as she jus loves music es well es eny body else."

Lin asserted that "the durn jingling contraption, jes spiled the hull
thing and ye don't make good music with it nohow." Lin's deductions
could not be controverted. Alfred did not make good music with his
tambourine but it is a fact that he succeeded in drowning a great deal
of bad.

It was a night never to be forgotten; one of those nights that will
linger long in fondest remembrance by any who have enjoyed them. It was
the night of one of those old time parties, one of those healthful,
pleasure giving affairs, an old fashioned family party. Relatives, near
and distant, uncles, aunts, nephews and nieces, cousins and friends,
came by invitation to the old home.

Games and recitations, blind-man's buff, button, button, who's got the
button, Uncle Joe, blindfolded, pursuing the prettiest girl at the
frolic, brought roars of laughter from everyone but Aunt Betsy. Lin,
sitting on a crock endeavoring to pass a linen thread through the eye of
a cambric needle; Uncle Jack, blindfolded trying to pin the tail on the
proper place on the paper donkey stuck against the wall. When he stuck
the pin in the keyhole of the parlor door the laughter shook the sash in
the windows.

The young folks formed in a circle holding hands, slowly revolving
around a bashful young man standing in the center of the circle. As they
circled they sang that old ditty so dear to the youth of those days:

"K