"Please, mother, let me go! Robert, please!" and she looked so entreatingly at her brother, that he sat down by his mother, and taking her hand said: "You must humor me in this matter, dear mother. I want some of you with me, and I am sure Christina can learn a great deal from Dora. It will cost her nothing, and she ought to take advantage of Dora's skill." The last argument prevailed. If Christina could get any advantage for nothing, and especially from Theodora, Mrs. Campbell approved the project. "You may go with your brother, Christina, for an hour, and make the most of your opportunities. One thing is sure, the woman ought to do something for the family, for goodness knows, we have been put to extraordinary expense and trouble for her pleasure." A few minutes after the departure of Robert and his sister, Mrs. Campbell said: "Open the parlor door, Isabel, and let us hear the 'treat' if we can." But the songs Theodora sang were quite unknown to the two listeners and Mrs. Campbell indulged herself in much scornful criticism. "Who ever heard the like? Do you call that music? It is just skirling. I would rather hear Christina sing '_The Bush Aboon Traquair_,' or '_The Lass o' Patie's Mill_,' or a good rattling Jacobite song like '_Highland Laddie_,' or '_Over the Water to Charlie_.' There is music in the like o' them, but there isn't a note o' it in Dora's caterwauling." "Listen, mother! She is singing merrily enough now. I wonder what it is? Robert and Christina are both laughing." "Something wicked and theatrical, no doubt. Shut the door, Isabel, and give me my _Practice of Piety_. Then you may leave me, and go to your room, unless you wish to join your sister." "Mother, do not be unjust." "In an hour remind Christina. You are a good daughter, Isabel. You are my greatest comfort." "Good-night, mother; you are always first with me." When Christina's hour was nearly at its close, Isabel went to her brother's parlor door. Theodora was singing the sweetest little melody and her voice was so charmful that Isabel could not tap at the door--as Christina had been instructed to do--until it ceased. And for many a day the words haunted her, though she always told herself there was neither sense nor reason in them. "_If there were dreams to sell What would you buy? Some cost a passing bell, Some a light sigh, That shakes from Life's fresh crown Only a rose leaf down. If there were dreams to sell, Merry and sad to tell, And the crier rang the bell, What would you buy?_"