“Very well, indeed,” said the stout man with an approving nod. “Quite promising for a beginner. Shouldn't wonder if in time they made a second Cary or Kellogg of her.” “Now you'll forgive him, won't you?” murmured Charlie in his cousin's ear. “Yes, and I'd like to pat him on the head. But take warning and never judge by first appearances again,” whispered Rose, at peace now with all mankind. Phebe's last song was another ballad; she meant to devote her talent to that much neglected but always attractive branch of her art. It was a great surprise, therefore, to all but one person in the hall when, instead of singing “Auld Robin Grey,” she placed herself at the piano, and, with a smiling glance over her shoulder at the children, broke out in the old bird song which first won Rose. But the chirping, twittering, and cooing were now the burden to three verses of a charming little song, full of springtime and the awakening life that makes it lovely. A rippling accompaniment flowed through it all, and a burst of delighted laughter from the children filled up the first pause with a fitting answer to the voices that seemed calling to them from the vernal woods. It was very beautiful, and novelty lent its charm to the surprise, for art and nature worked a pretty miracle and the clever imitation, first heard from a kitchen hearth, now became the favorite in a crowded concert room. Phebe was quite herself again; color in the cheeks now; eyes that wandered smiling to and fro; and lips that sang as gaily and far more sweetly than when she kept time to her blithe music with a scrubbing brush. This song was evidently intended for the children, and they appreciated the kindly thought, for as Phebe went back among them, they clapped ecstatically, flapped their pinafores, and some caught her by the skirts with audible requests to “Do it again, please; do it again.” But Phebe shook her head and vanished, for it was getting late for such small people, several of whom “lay sweetly slumbering there” till roused by the clamor round them. The elders, however, were not to be denied and applauded persistently, especially Aunt Plenty, who seized Uncle Mac's cane and pounded with it as vigorously as “Mrs. Nubbles” at the play. “Never mind your gloves, Steve; keep it up till she comes,” cried Charlie, enjoying the fun like a boy while Jamie lost his head with excitement and, standing up, called “Phebe! Phebe!” in spite of his mother's attempts to silence him. Even the stout man clapped, and Rose could only laugh delightedly as she turned to look at Archie, who seemed to have let himself loose at last and was stamping with a dogged energy funny to see.