her song, and with her guitar still in her hands was idly strumming its
strings. The moonlight fell about her in a flood so bright as to reveal
the ivory pallor of her face and the lustrous depths of her dark eyes.
It was a face of rare and romantic beauty framed in soft, fluffy, dark
hair, brushed high off the forehead and gathered in a Greek knot at the
back of her head. But besides the beauty of face and eyes, there was
an air of gentle, appealing innocence that awakened the chivalrous
instincts latent in every masculine heart, and a lazy, languorous grace
that set her in striking contrast to the alert, vigorous country maids
so perfectly able to care for themselves, asking odds of no man. When
the singing ceased Barney came out of the shadow at his father's side,
and, reaching for the violin, said, "Let me spell you a bit, Dad."

At his voice Dick, who was across the floor beside the singer, turned
quickly and, seeing Barney, sprang for him, shouting, "Hello! you
old whale, you!" The father hastily pulled his precious violin out of
danger.

"Let go, Dick! Let go, I tell you!" said Barney, struggling in his
brother's embrace; "stop it, now!"

With a mighty effort he threw Dick off from him and stood on guard with
an embarrassed, half-shamed, half-indignant laugh. The crowd gathered
near in delighted expectation. There was always something sure to happen
when Dick "got after" his older brother.

"He won't let me kiss him," cried Dick pitifully, to the huge enjoyment
of the crowd.

"It's too bad, Dick," they cried.