for hearing Janie, and afterward wondered why he had done so,
as he felt sure that he was to listen to the vocal efforts of a child
whose singing chanced to please an old man whose knowledge of music was
probably meagre.

Janie submitted to all the wrappings with which Margaret McLeod saw fit to
envelop her, and when in his great fur coat, Sandy stood in the doorway
and called to Janie that the sleigh was ready, she hurried toward him, an
animated bundle of dry goods.

It was a long, cold ride, but Janie and her enthusiasm were both warm, and
when they reached the building and mounted the long flight of stairs to
the hall, her cheeks were glowing, and her eyes brilliant with excitement.
She was granted a few moments for a hearing before the hour for the club
rehearsal.

The teacher was seated at the piano when they entered, and as he arose to
greet them he found it a task to refrain from laughing at the odd little
figure wound so snugly in shawls and scarfs. When, however, her wraps
removed, Janie stood before him, a typical little Scotch lass, with bright
blue eyes and flaxen braids, he was aware of a charm about the pretty
child which compelled him to believe that it was barely possible that she
could sing.

"What are some of your songs, child?" he asked kindly.

"I'll sing, 'Comin' thro' the rye,' if it please you," answered Janie,
simply.

"Very well," was the reply, and he played a brilliant little prelude. The
music inspired Janie, and never had she sung as she sang that day. At the
end of the first verse, the man paused, with his hands resting upon the
keys, and surveyed the tiny figure as it stood before him, the little chin
lifted, and the sweet eyes looking into his so eagerly, as if asking for a
word of approval.

"Come nearer," he said, "and sing another verse."

"Willingly," said Janie, and again the fresh voice rang out,

"If a body meet a body
Comin' frae the town
If a body kiss a body
Need a body frown."

At the last sweet note the man at the piano turned, and lifting her in his
strong arms he exclaimed,

"Child, you have the voice of an angel! Mr. McLeod, I ask your pardon for
doubting your statement that this little girl could sing."

"Oh, it's of no account whatever," answered Sandy, stoutly, "since ye're
weel convinced."

The members of the club were beginning to arrive, and standing Janie upon
a chair, the director stooped, and looking into the little face he a