Dan; all nice and comfy. There's a moon. And
itty-bitsy stars," answered a soothing voice--Charlie See's--from the
porch. "Oodles of stars. How I wonder what they are. G'wan, Uncle
Dan--tell us about the East India Company now."

Hobby Lull rose tragically and bestowed a withering glance upon Uncle
Dan. "You old fat fallacy with an undistributed middle--see what
you've done now! You and your John Company! Go to bed! Forbes, you
brought this man See. You go home!"

"Overlook it this one time," urged Forbes. "Don't send us away--the
girls are going to sing. Forgive us all both, and I'll get rid of See
to-morrow."

"Be sure you do, then. Lyn! Come here to me."

"Don't shoot, colonel, I'll come down," said Lyn.

Her small face was downcast and demure. Charlie See came tiptoe after
her and sidled furtively to the fire.

"Sing, then," commanded Hobby. He brought the guitars and gave one to
each girl.

The coals glowed on the hearth; side by side, the fair head and the
brown bent at the task of tuning. That laughing circle was scattered
long ago and it was written that never again should all those friendly
faces gather by any hearthfire--never again. It has happened so many,
many times; even to you and to me, so many, many times! But we learn
nothing; we are still bitter, and hard, and unkind--with kindness so
cheap and so priceless--as if there was no such thing as loss or
change or death.

And because of some hours of your own, it is hoped you will not smile
at the songs of that lost happy hour. They were old-fashioned songs;
indeed, it is feared they might almost be called Victorian. Their
bourgeois simplicity carried no suggestive double meaning.

"When other lips and other hearts"--that was what they sang, brown Lyn
and white Edith. Kirkconnel Lea they sang, and Jeanie Morrison, and
Rosamond:

_Rose o' the world, what man would wed
When he might dream of your face instead?_

Folly? Perhaps. Perhaps, too, in a world where we can but love and
where we must lose, it may be no unwisdom if only love and loss seem
worth the singing.

The swift hour passed. The last song, even as the first, was poignant
with the happy sadness of youth:

_When my heart is sad and troubled,
Then my quivering lips shall say,_
"_Oh! by and by you will forget me,
By and by when far away!_"

Good-bys were said at last; Forbes and See put foot to stirrup and
rode jingling into the white moonlight;