And arm in arm the boys strolled away, leaving Alice to read music as diligently as if society had indeed no charms for her. As she bent to turn a page, the eager young man behind the piano saw the rose and was struck speechless with delight. A moment he gazed, then hastened to seize the coveted place before a new detachment of bores arrived. 'Alice, I can't believe it--did you understand--how shall I ever thank you?' murmured Demi, bending as if he, too, read the song, not a note or word of which did he see, however. 'Hush! not now. I understood--I don't deserve it--we are too young, we must wait, but--I'm very proud and happy, John!' What would have happened after that tender whisper I tremble to think, if Tom Bangs had not come bustling up, with the cheerful remark: 'Music? just the thing. People are thinning out, and we all want a little refreshment. My brain fairly reels with the 'ologies and 'isms I've heard discussed tonight. Yes, give us this; sweet thing! Scotch songs are always charming.' Demi glowered; but the obtuse boy never saw it, and Alice, feeling that this would be a safe vent for sundry unruly emotions, sat down at once, and sang the song which gave her answer better than she could have done: BIDE A WEE 'The puir auld folk at home, ye mind, Are frail and failing sair; And weel I ken they'd miss me, lad, Gin I come hame nae mair. The grist is out, the times are hard, The kine are only three; I canna leave the auld folk now. We'd better bide a wee. 'I fear me sair they're failing baith; For when I sit apart, They talk o' Heaven so earnestly, It well nigh breaks my heart. So, laddie, dinna urge me now, It surely winna be; I canna leave the auld folk yet. We'd better bide a wee.' The room was very still before the first verse ended; and Alice skipped the next, fearing she could not get through; for John's eyes were on her, showing that he knew she sang for him and let the plaintive little ballad tell what her reply must be. He took it as she meant it, and smiled at her so happily that her heart got the better of her voice, and she rose abruptly, saying something about the heat. 'Yes, you are tired; come out and rest, my dearest'; and with a masterful air Demi took her into the starlight, leaving Tom to stare after them winking as if a sky-rocket had suddenly gone off under his nose. 'Bless my soul! the Deacon really meant business last summer and never told me. Won't Dora laugh?' And Tom departed in hot haste to impart and exult over his discovery.