The last number to be taken up was an original composition, written and
composed by the singing-master himself, and during its rehearsal his
enthusiasm reached its highest pitch. At the conclusion of the chorus,
which had been rendered with remarkable spirit, the Professor darted
from one-end of the platform to the other, crying out, "Bravo! Fust
rate! Do it again! That'll fetch 'em!"

After several repetitions of the chorus, each one given with increasing
spirit and volume, the Professor threw down his baton and said: "That'll
do. You're excused until to-morrow night, seven o'clock sharp at
Eastborough Town Hall. I guess the barge has just drove up and we'd
better be gittin' ready for our sleigh ride."

Miss Tilly James, who had acted as accompanist on the tin-panny old
piano, was putting up her music. The Professor, with his face wreathed
in smiles, walked up to her and said, "I tell you what, Miss James, that
last composition of mine is bang up. One of these days, when the 'Star
Spangled Banner,' 'Hail Columbia,' and 'Marching through Georgia' are
laid upon the top shelf and all covered with dust, one hundred million
American freemen will be singing Strout's great national anthem, 'Hark,
and hear the Eagle Scream.' What do you think of that prophecy?"

"I think," said Miss James, turning her pretty face towards him, her
black eyes snapping with fun, "that if conceit was consumption, there'd
be another little green grave in the cemetery with O. Strout on the
headstone."

The Professor never could take a joke. In his eye, jokes were always
insults to be resented accordingly. Turning upon the young lady