"So it is. But I'm not going to be put off. It's a shame!" replied Dick,
in a hurt tone. "And me just home, too."

"It's a mean shame, Dick. Wouldn't stand it a minute," cried his
sympathisers.

"I won't either," cried Dick, preparing to make an attack.

"Look here, Dick," cried Barney impatiently, "just quit your nonsense
or I'll throw you on the floor there and sit on you. Besides, you're
spoiling the music."

"Well, well, that's so," said Dick. "So on Miss Lane's account I'll
forbear, provided, that is, she sings again, as, of course, she will."

It was Dick's custom to assume command in every company where he found
himself.

"What is it to be? 'Dixie'?"

"Yes! Yes!" cried the crowd. "'Dixie.' We'll give you the chorus."

After a little protest the girl struck a few chords and dashed off into
that old plantation song full of mingling pathos and humour. Barney
picked up his father's violin, touched the strings softly till he found
her key and then followed in a subdued accompaniment of weird chords.
The girl turned herself toward him, her beautiful face lighting up as
if she had caught a glimpse of a kindred spirit, and with a new richness
and tenderness she poured forth the full flood of her song. The crowd