ad hastily deposited on Jessica's lap when he made his vengeful dash
upon Hippy, he strummed it lightly. "Why lug a mandolin along if no one
intends to sing?" he asked pointedly, ignoring Hippy's disrespectful
reminiscences.

"Oh, very well." Promptly foregoing the will to gather data concerning
Reddy's too-oft maligned Titian locks, Hippy began a lively warbling
which had nothing in common with the tinkling melody of the mandolin. As
a result the patient instrument immediately ceased its complaining
tinkle. Hippy, however, lilted on, undisturbed, for a matter of five
seconds, when a chorus of threatening protests warned him to cease.

"Do be good," admonished Nora, laughing in spite of herself. "Either
sing prettily or don't try to sing at all."

"Madam, it is not necessary for me to _try_ to sing. Song and I are one.
Let me give you an illustration. Name a ditty best suited to my voice
and I will prove myself."

"I can't recall one," discouraged Nora.

"Silent singing would suit _you_ best," grumbled Reddy. "You could make
your lips do the deed without damaging any one else's ear drums."

"I'll try it," amiably agreed the noisy soloist. "Just watch me." He
proceeded to indulge in a series of labial contortions that a dumb man
would have envied, and which had a most hilarious effect upon those whom
he had lately persecuted with raucous sound. Rudely requested to desist
from even this newly discovered pastime, he subsided with a frantic
signalling to the effect that he had actually been stricken dumb.

"It's too good to be true," exclaimed the relieved Reddy, laying fresh
hold on the mandolin. "While we have peace, sing for us, Nora. We ought
to make the most of this unexpected opportunity."

"Give us that song you used to sing about Golden Summer," begged
Jessica. "Don't you remember, that was one of the first pieces Reddy
learned to play on the mandolin? I haven't heard it in ages. I'd love to
hear Nora sing it again."

"Yes, sing it, Nora." Grace added her plea. "I don't believe I've ever
heard it. It will be very appropriate to the occasion."

"Wait a minute until I think how it goes." Reddy began a reflective
strumming, bringing back, bit by bit, a plaintive little air that
carried a subdued heart throb. "I've got it," he nodded. "Go ahead,
Nora."

Her hands loosely clasped, Nora's clear, high voice, which Grace always
declared "had tears in it," took up the song of Jessica's fancy to the
subdued accom