A little innovation was introduced that evening that certainly made things run smoother. Jess not only played in the intervals, but lifted up her voice and sang old familiar Scottish ballads. This was immediately popular. The audience joined in the chorus of some, and applauded all. Jess sang until her throat must have ached, and was undoubtedly the success of the evening. After the "rag" had fallen for the last time, the audience dispersed howling, booing and hissing, out into the rain. Then the company gathered expectant around Mr. Punter, who accordingly handed out some coins. It was but small sums that he distributed, but it was something to go on with, and Evarne and Jessie came off far best of all with four shillings apiece. By Friday morning the girls at least felt too abashed to willingly show themselves in the streets of Ayr. But another rehearsal call had been given for eleven o'clock--which at least sounded encouraging--so exhorting one another to be defiant and brazen, they wended their way towards the hall. As they neared it, Jess suddenly stood still, and clutched Evarne's arm. Three men had appeared from out the building, staggering beneath the weight of a piano. This they placed on a cart, carefully covered it with oil-skins, and drove away. "Oh my! is that my piano gone?" gasped the little songstress. Impossible that their resource--their stand-by--should have been thus filched from them! Yet so it was. The owner of the piano, it seemed, had been present on the previous evening, and being perchance a prophet and able to foresee the future, had taken time by the forelock and demanded in advance the money due for the hire of his instrument. A quarrel with Mr. Punter had resulted, which ended by the man ruthlessly removing his piano. Jessie particularly was in a fine state of distress: with her it was a case of "Othello's occupation's gone," and her complaints and lamentations rang loud. "Caledonia's Bard" unrelieved by music! Terrible! At length, Heaven bestowed an inspiration upon the troubled Jessie. What about Mrs. Sargeant's piano? Surely if Harry Douglas went and asked for its loan, making a personal favour of the matter, he might succeed. If Mrs. Sargeant at first declined, and he forthwith broke out into the strains of "Sweet Géneviève," would he not be irresistible? Anyway, for goodness' sake let it be tried. Procuring a trolley, and accompanied by Brown, the heroic Douglas set out upon this venture. In less than half an hour they returned. Wonder and delight! then efforts of the modern Orpheus had been crowned with success. He had sung "Sweet Géneviève," and had thereby charmed either Mrs. Sargeant or her piano. Here it was! he stood by it smiling--proud and happy singer!