Mr. Kean suddenly joined in with a deep, booming bass. He had learned that song many years before in the south, he said, and had never forgotten it. "He never forgets anything," said Judy proudly, laying her cheek against her father's. "And now, what will you sing, Bobbie, to amuse the ladies?" Mr. Kean, without the least embarrassment, took the guitar, and, looking so amazingly like Judy that they might have been twins, sang: "Young Jeremy Jilson Johnson Jenks Was a lad of scarce nineteen----" It was a delightful song and the chorus so catchy that after the second verse the entire fudge and stunt party joined in with: "'Oh, merry-me, merry-me,' Sang young Jeremy, 'Merry-me, Lovely Lou----'" Presently Mr. Kean, seizing his daughter around the waist, began dancing, and in a moment everybody was twirling to that lively tune, bumping against each other and tumbling on the divans in an effort to circle around the room. All the time. Mrs. Kean, standing on a chair in the corner, was gently remonstrating and calling out: "Now, Bobbie, you mustn't make so much noise. This isn't a mining camp." Nobody heard her soft expostulations, and only the little lady herself heard the sharp rap on the door and noticed a piece of paper shoved under the crack. Rescuing it from under the feet of the dancers, and seeing that it was addressed to "Miss Kean," she opened and read it. "Oh, how very mortifying," she exclaimed. "Now, Bobbie, I knew you would get these girls into some scrape. You are always so noisy. See here! Our own Judy being reprimanded! You must make your father explain to the President or Matron or whoever this Miss Blount is, that it was all his fault." "What in the world are you talking about, Julia Kean?" demanded Judy, snatching the note from her mother and reading it rapidly. "Well, of all the unexampled impudence!" she cried when she had finished. "Will you be good enough to listen to this? "'Miss Kean: You and your family are a little too noisy for the comfort of the other tenants in this house. Those of us who wish to study and rest cannot do so. This is not a dance hall nor a mining camp. Will you kindly arrange to entertain more quietly? The singing is especially obnoxious. "'JUDITH BLOUNT.'" Judy was in such a white heat of rage when she finished reading the note, that her mother was obliged to quiet her by smoothing her forehead and saying over and over: "There, there, my darling, don't mind it so much. No doubt the young person was quite right." Mr. Kean was intensely amused over the letter. He read it to himself twice; then laughed and slapped his knee, exclaiming: "By Jove, Judy, my love, it takes a woman to write a note like that." "A woman? A cat!" broke in Judy. Mrs. Kean put her hand over her daughter's mouth and looked shocked. "Oh, Judy, my dearest, you mustn't say such unladylike things," she cried.