A little breathless gasp went from one to another in visible relief as Cornelia came forward quickly, summoning a wan smile to her lips, trying to steady her fingers to select something from the mass of music on the piano that would meet the present need. Her music did not include many popular favorites, a few that Carey had brought home, that was all. But this if ever was the time to bring it forth. Ah! Here was “Tim Rooney’s at the Fightin’.” It would do as well as anything, and she placed it on the piano, and forced her fingers into the opening chords, not daring to look around the room, wondering what Clytie Dodd was doing now, and how she was taking her interruption. But Maxwell was not idle. She felt his protective presence behind her. He was summoning every one into the chorus, even the father; and he asked Clytie Dodd whether she didn’t sing alto, a challenge which won a giggling acknowledgment from her. “I thought so,” he said. “I can almost always tell when people sing alto. Then come over on this side of the piano with me. I sing bass; and Mr. Copley, are you bass, too? I thought so. Now, you two fellows,”—turning to Brand and Carey, who were standing abashed in the background, uncomfortable and half ready to bolt, but much impressed by the tactics of the stranger,—“it’s up to you to sing tenor. You’ve got to, whether you can or not, you know, because we can’t do it, and it’s obvious that we have to have four parts. Miss Kendall sings soprano, doesn’t she? And Miss Copley. Now, we’re off! Give us those chords again, please.” He started off himself with a splendid voice, and even a lame singer found it easy to follow. They all had good voices, and, while no one felt exactly like singing after a big dinner, they nevertheless stumbled along bravely, and before the second verse was reached were making quite a gallant chorus. Before they had sung three songs they were quite in the spirit of the thing; and Harry and Louise, emerging from a last delicious dish of water-ice, joined in heartily, lending their young voices vigorously. Clytie proved to have a tolerable voice. It was a bit louder than was necessary, with a nasal twang now and then; but it blended well with the other voices, and was not too obvious. Even Mr. Copley seemed to have forgotten the unpleasant happening of a few moments before, and was singing as lustily as when he was a young man.