It certainly was, but their hearts were in tune, and it mattered little if some of the keys refused to move, or the sounds emitted were more discordant than melodious. “Is this Dan a good singer?” asked Quincy. “Fine!” exclaimed Hiram. “He's great on Irish songs.” “They are always humourous or pathetic,” remarked Alice. “Some of them remind me of a person trying to laugh with a heart full of sorrow, and their love songs are so sweet.” “Can't we have him in?” asked Maude. “I'll go and see if he's come,” said Mandy. “He often drops in and helps Mrs. Crowley clear up after supper.” Maude laughed. “A sure sign he's in love. I hope I'll get such a helpful husband.” “Your life will be on different lines,” remarked Uncle Ike. “You will not be obliged to do your own housework.” “I don't know about that. I've loafed all my life and I'd really like to know what work is.” Mandy came back with smiling face. “Yes, he's there, and they're putting the dishes in the closet. He's coming in, and, of course, Mrs. Crowley will come too.” “While we are waiting, play something, Maude,” said Quincy. “I only took three quarters,” she said roguishly, as she seated herself and dashed off “Waves of Ocean” in strident style. “I always liked that,” said Hiram. “So do I, with my bathing-dress on,” and Maude acknowledged the applause that greeted her efforts with a low bow. The door was opened, and Mrs. Crowley entered followed by Mr. Daniel Sweeney. Mrs. Crowley with her neat calico dress and white apron, did not look her forty-five years, and Mr. Sweeney, although five years her senior, was a young appearing man. “I haven't the music with me,” said Mr. Sweeney to Maude, who offered to play the accompaniment. “Give me the key--I guess I can vamp it.” Mr. Sweeney struck a note. “What's the title?” asked Maude. “Widow Mahan's Pig.” “Oh, I know that,” said Maude. “It's one of my favourites. I often sing it to my sister Florence. She just adores it.” “Why, Maude,” cried Alice, “how can you tell such stories?” But Quincy was laughing quietly. But few people understood Maude as he did. Mr. Sweeney had a fine baritone voice; he sang with great expression, and, what is particularly desirable in a comic song, the words could be heard and understood. I. Young Widow Mahan had an iligant pig, In the garden it loved for to wallow and dig; On potatoes it lived, and on fresh buttermilk, And its back was as smooth as fine satin or silk. Now Peter McCarthy, a graceless young scamp, Who niver would work, such a lazy young tramp, He laid eye on the pig, as he passed by one day, And the thafe of the world, he stole it away! _Chorus_ An iligant pig in every way, Young Widow Mahan used often to say: “Faith, when it's full grown, I'll go to the fair, A mighty foine price I'll get for it there.”