applause that greeted her efforts with a low bow.

The door was opened, and Mrs. Crowley entered followed by Mr. Daniel
Sweeney. Mrs. Crowley with her neat calico dress and white apron, did
not look her forty-five years, and Mr. Sweeney, although five years
her senior, was a young appearing man.

"I haven't the music with me," said Mr. Sweeney to Maude, who offered
to play the accompaniment.

"Give me the key--I guess I can vamp it."

Mr. Sweeney struck a note.

"What's the title?" asked Maude.

"Widow Mahan's Pig."

"Oh, I know that," said Maude. "It's one of my favourites. I often
sing it to my sister Florence. She just adores it."

"Why, Maude," cried Alice, "how can you tell such stories?" But
Quincy was laughing quietly. But few people understood Maude as he
did.

Mr. Sweeney had a fine baritone voice; he sang with great expression,
and, what is particularly desirable in a comic song, the words could
be heard and understood.

I.