"Molly, you've just come in time. There's going to be a sing-song on the island to-night, and as I'm getting up the programme I hope you'll turn out to be a gem of the first water. What'll you do?" I did not know what a "sing-song" was. Bertha explained. "A sing-song? Oh, a kind of a sort of a concert--informal, free-and-easy, don't you know. All the river people turn up on the island--they bring their own illuminations--then some of us do things to amuse them. Will you give us a banjo solo?" "I'm afraid I don't play the banjo." "Not play the banjo? I thought everyone could make a row on the banjo. Can't you play it enough to accompany your own singing?" "I'm afraid I don't sing." "Don't sing? Then what do you do?" "I bar recitations"; this was Miss Reeves. "I don't care what you bar," retorted Bertha. "I'm going to recite: at least, I'm going to do a sort of a sketch with George Willis." "I don't call that reciting." "It wouldn't make any difference if you did." I was rapidly beginning to learn that these people had a candid way of addressing each other which, to a stranger, was a little alarming. "The question is, Molly, what shall I put you down for? Will you give us a dance?" "A dance? I don't know what you mean." "A cake-walk, or a skirt-twirl, or a few steps--anything." "Do you mean, will I dance, all by myself, in front of a lot of strangers?" "Yes, why not? Everybody does if they can." "I cannot, thank you." "Then what can you do?" "I have no parlour tricks." "No--what?" "I have no parlour tricks." I ought to have been warned by the tone in which Bertha put her inquiry; but I did not notice it until it was too late. Directly I had repeated my assertion I realised that I had said something which it would perhaps have been better left unsaid. They all exchanged glances in that exasperating way which some people have when they wish to telegraph to each other something which is not precisely flattering to you. Miss Reeves laughed outright; Bertha drummed with her fingers on her knee; Margaret observed me with her keen grey eyes; while Mrs Sanford spoke. "Isn't that one of those things, Molly, which one would rather have expressed differently? Because, hereabouts, we rather pride ourselves on our capacity for what you call 'parlour tricks'; and were not even aware that they were 'parlour tricks' in the opprobrious sense which you seem to suggest. I have always myself tried to acquire a smattering of as many of what, I fancied, were the minor accomplishments, as I could; and I have always endeavoured, sometimes at the cost of a good deal of money, to induce my girls to acquire them too. I have never felt that a woman was any the worse for being able to do things for the amusement--if not for the edification--of her friends."