She stopped, somewhat abashed at making so long a speech, which Maude
might think indicated that she was offended at her sister-in-law's
reference to herself.

"Bravo, Alice," cried Uncle Ike, "so say we all of us."

After supper all adjourned to the parlour. Quincy offered to carry
Uncle Ike.

"No, young man. I'm all right on an even floor. It's these up and
down stairs that tire my loose joints"--and he made his way, without
assistance, to an easy chair in a farther corner. Quincy looked about
the room. Five years had made little change. The old square piano was
in its accustomed place, as well as the music stand. He looked over
the pieces--the same ones that he and Alice had sung together years
ago.

"Let's have some music," said Hiram. "We haven't heard any singers,
except Dan, since you folks went away. Guess that pianner's out of
tune by this time."

It certainly was, but their hearts were in tune, and it mattered
little if some of the keys refused to move, or the sounds emitted
were more discordant than melodious.

"Is this Dan a good singer?" asked Quincy.

"Fine!" exclaimed Hiram. "He's great on Irish songs."