echo that was new to them and sounded like music.

The house movers had set the windlass locked, and the strain on the rope
brought it taut. The house was anchored about half way up the hill,
straining at the giant cable dangerously and on a sharp tilt.

A little urchin was trying to "walk the tightrope," as he called it, as
Frank came up, shaping a willow stick with his pocket knife.

"Say, Frank Jordan," cried the lad, "won't you make me a whistle?"

"Of course I will," replied Frank accommodatingly, and got astride a moving
timber and set at work. Only a few of the large boys were about the spot.
Frank noticed that Gill Mace, the nephew of the village jeweler, was among
their number.

Frank soon turned out a first-class whistle for the applicant, who went
away tooting at a happy rate. A second urchin preferred a modest request,
and Frank had just completed the second whistle when the boy he had sent
away contented came back sniveling.

"Why, what's the matter?" inquired Frank sympathizingly.

Between sobs the little fellow related his troubles. Gill Mace had forcibly
taken the whistle away from him, and when he had got through testing its
merits had pocketed it and sent its owner away with a cuff on the ear.

"I'll give Gill Mace a piece of my mind, just now," declared Frank, hastily
getting to the ground. The jeweler's nephew was up to just such mean,
unmanly tricks all of the time. Frank felt that he deserved a lesson.