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Billy shook his head. "I dunno," he replied. "That's a hard question to answer." In silence they passed on through the upland gowned in hazy, golden spray. At the height of land they paused to look down across the sweeping country below them. Then blue eyes sought grey and hand in hand, with a new glad vista of life opening before them, they went on into the valley. "How standing?" bawled Weaver..

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Harry wiped his lips on his sleeve and stood gazing fearfully about him. "Do you see the shnakes and the evil-eyed burruds, Billy Bye?" he shuddered. "It's see 'em ye shurely can and hear their divil hisses." His fingers gripped the boy's arm. "Lucy, my dear," exclaimed Miss Acton, "play 'Now, Goody, Please to Moderate,' or 'My Lodging is on the Cold Ground,' or 'Sally in our Alley.' I do not care which. They are all very beautiful, and I know no song, brother, that carries me back like 'Sally in our Alley.' Do you remember how finely our father used to sing it? He was at Dr Burney's one night, sir," said she, talking to Mr Lawrence, "when a famous Italian singer of that day—who was it now?—she was as yellow as a guinea, and her hoops were so large there were many doors she could not pass through—who was it now? But no matter; after my father had sung she stepped over to him, and curtsying as though she would sit before him, she said: 'I have often heard this song sung and thought nothing of it. But now, sir, I shall ever regard it as the loveliest composition in English music.'" What could such an association as this end[Pg 450] in, but in such a love between the two as must prove irresistible sooner or later as an appeal? "Five, bluebill. Comin' right to us.".