g folks have had more'n their turn; now give us a
reg'lar Mother Goose."

This request was received with acclamations, and soon ripples of
laughter broke over the crowd in all directions, and then one of the
adoring boys who were usually worshipping near cried out, "A reel,
Miss Alden, a reel, and let us finish up with a high old dance before
dinner."

Graydon seized Miss Wildmere's hand, boys made profound bows to their
mothers, husbands dragged their protesting wives out upon the floor.
Soon nearly all ages and heights were in the two long lines, many feet
already keeping time to Madge's rollicking strains. Never had such
a dance been known before in the house, for the very genius and
inspiration of mirth seemed to be in the piano. The people were
laughing half the time at the odd medley of tunes and improvisations
that Madge invoked, and gray-bearded men indulged in some of the
antics that they had thought forgotten a quarter of a century before.
As the last couple at the head of the lines was glancing down the
archway of raised and clasped hands, the lively strains ceased, and
the dancers swarmed out, with thanks and congratulations upon their
lips, only to see Madge flying up the stairway.

"Madge," said Graydon, at dinner, "I suppose you will tell me you have
practiced over and over again every note you sang this morning."

"Certainly; some of the more difficult ones hours and hours and
months and months. Herr Brachmann was an amiable dragon in music, and
insisted on your knowing what you did know."

"I thought you would say all this, but it doesn't account for your
singing."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know exactly. There is something you did not get from
Herr Brachmann--scarcely from nature. It suggests what artists call
feeling, and more."

"Oh, every one has his own method," said Madge, carelessly, and yet
with a visible increase of color.

"'Method,' do you call it? I'm half inclined to think that it might
be akin to madness were you very unhappy. The human voice often has
a strange power over me, and I have a theory that it may reveal
character more than people imagine. Why shouldn't it? It is the
chief medium of our expression, and we may even unconsciously reveal
ourselves in our tones."

"When were you so fanciful before? What does a professional reveal?"

"Chiefly that she is a trained professional, and yet even the most
blase among them give hints as to the compass of their woman-natur