singing along the sidewalk.

"In the evening, by the moonlight, you could hear
those banjos ringing;
In the evening, by the moonlight, you could hear
those darkies singing.
How the ole folks would injoy it; they would sit
all night an' lis-sun,
As we sang I-I-N the evening BY-Y-Y the moonlight.'

"Ah, _that_ takes me back!" exclaimed Corliss. "That's as it used
to be. I might be a boy again."

"And I suppose this old house has many memories for you?" said
Cora, softly.

"Not very many. My, old-maid aunt didn't like me overmuch, I
believe; and I wasn't here often. My mother and I lived far down
the street. A big apartment-house stands there now, I noticed as I
was walking out here this afternoon--the `Verema,' it is called,
absurdly enough!"

"Ray Vilas lives there," volunteered Hedrick, not altering his
position.

"Vilas?" said the visitor politely, with a casual recollection
that the name had been once or twice emphasized by the youth at
dinner. "I don't remember Vilas among the old names here."

"It wasn't, I guess," said Hedrick. "Ray Vilas has only been here