bout the wonderful serenade.

The tinkle tinkle of the thin notes grew stronger and clearer and they
found that a third instrument, which had puzzled them, was a mouth
organ.

"I didn't suppose anybody could really make music with a mouth organ,
but it goes nicely with the others." Chicken Little, like Katy, was more
excited over the serenade than the party. It seemed so delightfully
young ladyfied.

The trio had one awful moment, for the music seemed to be dying away and
still there was no human in sight. Suddenly it stopped altogether. They
listened and waited--not a sound rewarded them.

"I think it's downright mean if they've gone by." Mamie's tone was more
than injured.

The words were hardly out of her mouth when a stealthy foot-fall came
directly beneath their window, and guitar, mandolin, and mouth organ
burst forth into "My Bonnie," supported after the opening strains by
half a dozen boyish voices.

The boys had crept in so close to the wall of the house that the girls
had not discovered them. The young ladies ducked at the first sound, and
hastily slipped their dresses over their night gowns so they could look
out again.

"O dear," said Mamie, "I almost forgot my curl papers."

They were arrayed in time to reward the serenaders with a vigorous
clapping of hands, Father and Mother Jenkins joining in from the window
of their bedroom downstairs.

"Swing Low, Sweet Chariot" floated up next, followed by "Over the Garden
Wall," which, if not choice, had the distinction of being sung in New
York, as Grant Stowe proudly informed them.

It was three o'clock past, before they finally settled down in bed once
more. Faint suggestions of dawn were already apparent.

"It's not much use to go to bed, Father always gets up at six," mourned
Mamie.

A brilliant idea struck Katy. "Suppose we stay up all night. Grace Dart
said she did once when her father was so sick, and she said it was the
most wonderful thing to see the sun rise when you hadn't been to bed at
all."

This proposal met with instant favor. They clambered out of bed and lit
the small oil lamp, wrapping themselves in quilts and petticoats
impartially, for the air was growing chilly. The next three hours were
the longest any of the three had ever known. In spite of fortune
telling, and a thrilling story which Mamie read in tragic whispers, the
minutes shuffled along like hours. Yawns interrupted almost every
sentence and much mutual prodding and sh