-

"And if I do get _him_ to like me, Grace, will you like me too?"

"I like you now very well," said Grace.

"Come, Grace, you know what I mean," said James, looking steadfastly at
the top of the apple tree.

"Well, I wish, then, you would understand what _I_ mean, without my
saying any more about it," said Grace.

"O, to be sure I will!" said our hero, looking up with a very
intelligent air; and so, as Aunt Sally would say, the matter was
settled, with "no words about it."

Now shall we narrate how our hero, as he saw Uncle Lot approaching the
door, had the impudence to take out his flute, and put the parts
together, arranging and adjusting the stops with great composure?

"Uncle Lot," said he, looking up, "this is the best flute that ever I
saw."

"I hate them tooting critturs," said Uncle Lot, snappishly.

"I declare! I wonder how you can," said James, "for I do think they
exceed----"

So saying, he put the flute to his mouth, and ran up and down a long
flourish.

"There! what do you think of that?" said he, looking in Uncle Lot's face
with much delight.

Uncle Lot turned and marched into the house, but soon faced to the
right-about, and came out again, for James was fingering "Yankee
Doodle"--that appropriate national air for the descendants of the
Puritans.

Uncle Lot's patriotism began to bestir itself; and now, if it had been
any thing, as he said, but "that 'are flute"--as it was, he looked more
than once at James's fingers.

"How under the sun _could_ you learn to do that?" said he.

"O, it's easy enough," said James, proceeding with another tune; and,
having played it through, he stopped a moment to examine the joints of
his flute, and in the mean time addressed Uncle Lot: "You can't think
how grand this is for pitching tunes--I always pitch the tunes on Sunday
with it."

"Yes; but I don't think it's a right and fit instrument for the Lord's
house," said Uncle Lot.

"Why not? It is only a kind of a long pitchpipe, you see," said James;
"and, seeing the old one is broken, and this will answer, I don't see
why it is not better than nothing."

"Why, yes, it may be better than nothing," said Uncle Lot; "but, as I
always tell Grace and my wife, it ain't the right kind of instrument,
after all; it ain't solemn."

"Solemn!" said James; "that is according as you work it: see here, now."

So saying, he struck up Old Hundred, and proceeded through it with great
perseverance.

"There, now!"