already taken their departure in their respective carriages, the
young people having resolved to see each other home in the
delicious moonlight.

But when the last galop was over, the hostess would not hear of the
young ladies going right out into the evening air, while they were
still warm with dancing. She therefore decreed half an hour for
cooling down, and, to occupy this time in the pleasantest manner,
she begged Cousin Hans to sing a little song.

He was ready at once, he was not one of those foolish people who
require pressing; he knew quite well the value of his talent.

There was, however, this peculiarity about Hans's singing, or
rather about its reception, that opinion was more than usually
divided as to its merits. By three persons in the world his
execution was admired as something incomparable. These three
persons were, first, Cousin Ola, then Aunt Maren, and lastly Cousin
Hans himself. Then there was a large party which thought it great
fun to hear Cousin Hans sing. "He always makes something out of
it." But lastly there came a few evil-disposed people who asserted
that he could neither sing nor play.

It was with respect to the latter point, the accompaniment, that
Cousin Ola always cherished a secret reproach against his brother--
the only shadow upon his admiration for him.

He knew how much labor it had cost both Hans himself and his
sisters to get him drilled in these accompaniments, especially in
the three minor chords with which he always finished up, and which