tum, tum, tum, struck up the ancient triumph hymn in memory of that
hero of the underground railroad by which so many slaves of the South in
bygone days made their escape "up No'th" to Canada and to freedom.

"Glory, glory, hallelujah, his soul goes marching on." By means of
"double-tongueing," a recently acquired accomplishment, he was able to
give a full brass band effect to his hymn of freedom. Many villagers
from door or window cast a kindly and admiring eye upon the gallant
little figure stepping to his own music down the street. He was brass
band, conductor, brigadier general all in one, and behind him marched
an army of heroes off for war and deathless glory, invisible and
invincible. To the Widow Martin as he swung past the leader flung a wave
of his hand. With a tender light in her old eyes the Widow Martin waved
back at him. "God bless his bright face," she murmured, pausing in
her work to watch the upright little figure as he passed along. At the
blacksmith's shop the band paused.


Tink, tink, tink, tink,
Tink, tink-a-tink-tink-tink.
Tink tink, tink, tink,
Tink, tink-a-tink-tink-tink.


The conductor graduated the tempo so as to include the rhythmic beat
of the hammer with the other instruments in his band. The blacksmith
looked, smiled and let his hammer fall in consonance with the beat of
the boy's hand, and for some moments there was glorious harmony between
anvil and mouth organ and the band invisible. At the store door across
the street the band paused long enough simply to give and receive an