all her thoughts and actions, that she commands love and respect at one
and the same time. After supper her grandfather asked her to sing and
play for us. Goodness only knows where they got the funny little old
organ that Cora Belle thinks so much of. It has spots all over it of
medicine that has been spilled at different times, and it has, as Cora
Belle said, lost its voice in spots; but that doesn't set back Cora
Belle at all, she plays away just as if it was all right. Some of the
keys keep up a mournful whining and groaning, entirely outside of the
tune. Cora Belle says they play themselves. After several "pieces" had
been endured, "Pa" said, "Play my piece, Cory Belle"; so we had "Bingen
on the Rhine" played and sung from A to izzard. Dear old "Pa," his
pain-twisted old face just beamed with pride. I doubt if heaven will
have for him any sweeter music than his "baby's" voice. Granny's
squeaky, trembly old voice trailed in after Cora Belle's, always a word
or two behind. "Tell my friends and companions when they meet and
_scrouge_ around"; that is the way they sang it, but no one would have
cared for that, if they had noticed with what happy eagerness the two
sang together. The grandparents would like to have sat up all night
singing and telling of things that happened in bygone days, but poor
tired little Cora Belle began to nod, so we retired. As we were
preparing for bed it suddenly occurred to Mr. Stewart that I had not
been surprised when going to town was mentioned, so he said, "Wooman,
how did it happen that you were ready when I was to gae to the toone?"
"Oh," I said, "I knew you were going." "Who tell it ye?" "A little
bird." "'T was some fool wooman, mayhap." I didn't feel it necessary to
enlighten him, and I think he is still wondering how I knew.

Next morning we were off early, but we didn't come up with the wagons
until almost camping-time. The great heavily-loaded wagons were
creaking along over the heavy sands. The McEttricks were behind,