"Mr. Leslie is a fine musician," said Hugh bluntly; "I have seldom heard so fine a baritone,--so rich and manly." Now Graham sang tenor,--a very delicate tenor, and naturally he could not sympathize with Hugh's fancy for a rich baritone. As he rose to take leave, Sibyl said, "I wish you would bring over your music, Mr. Marr, and sing for us. We were all charmed with that little German song you sung this evening; it was so full of pathos." "Pathos!" whispered Hugh to Aunt Faith, as Sibyl accompanied the poet into the hall. "How can Sibyl endure that calf!" "As Pete Trone said, '_de gustibus_' and so forth, Hugh," said Sibyl's voice from the hall as she closed the door behind Graham. "Well, Sibyl; I did not intend you to hear the epithet, but I cannot with sincerity take it back," said Hugh. "I like calves," said Sibyl, "they have beautiful eyes! Good-night!" "I never can make Sibyl out!" said Hugh, as his sister disappeared. "She never loses her temper, and truth always comes out with the temper, you know. Well, Aunt Faith, I have been a very bad boy all day. Will you pardon all my misdeeds?" "If you are penitent," said Aunt Faith, smiling. Then, more seriously, "You will not forget what I said to you this morning, Hugh?" "No, aunt; I shall not forget. Your words sank deeper than you knew," said Hugh gravely. CHAPTER V. FOURTH OF JULY. The first of July came, and with it the summer heat. Hugh hung up a hammock in the second story hall, between the north and south windows, so as to catch every wandering zephyr; and, armed with a book, he betook himself to this airy retreat for the purpose of study. At least that was his announcement at the breakfast-table. "For the purpose of sleep?" suggested Sibyl. "Day-dreaming!" said Bessie. "Lazying!" said Tom, coining a word for the occasion with true American versatility. "Very well, fellow-citizens, laugh on," said Hugh; "these are the last strawberries of the season, and I have no inclination to discuss anything at present but their sweetness. But I will venture to assert that at six o'clock this evening I shall have imbibed more knowledge in that very hammock then any of you in your prosy chairs." "I shall go and see Miss Skede about my white dresses," said Sibyl, rising. "Not this warm morning," exclaimed Bessie. "The very time. I could not have chosen a better day. Miss Skede has no imagination; she can _never_ lift herself beyond the present. If I had gone to her in June, she would have made my dresses heavy, in spite of all my orders and descriptions. Even yesterday, for instance, she would have been unable to conceive anything more than half-way effects; but to-day it is so warm that the heat may inspire her, and I hope to get out of her something as flowing and delicate as a summer cloud." "I see now, Sibyl, where all your poetry goes," said Hugh, laughing; "the puffs and ruffles get it all!"