The next morning, too, she had stopped and talked to him. But it was not
until the third time that he had ventured to ask her to whistle it. And
then--Old '61, now peering down the road for the blithe little figure,
thrilled again at the remembrance of what had happened. She had laughed
gently and said she did not know how to whistle, but if he would like
her to sing it--

There had been eight mornings all told, now, counting this morning,
which was sure to be. Yes, clear 'way down there somebody was comin'
swingin' along--somebody little an' happy an' spry. Old '61 began to
laugh softly. He could hardly wait for her to come and sit down on the
doorstep and sing it. Two or three times--she would sing it two or three
times.

He had a surprise for her this morning. With great pains he had dragged
his cabinet organ out onto the little porch. It was all open, ready.
He went a little way down the road in his eagerness to meet her.

"Good-morning!" Billy called brightly. "Am I late to-day?"

"Jest a little--jest a little," he quavered joyously, "but I'll forgive
ye! There's somethin' waitin' up there--I've got a surprise for ye!"

"Honest?" Billy stood still in the road, looking into the eager,
childish old face. "Oh, goody! I love surprises. Am I to guess it?"

"No, no, jest to come an' play on it!" he quavered. Then a cloud settled
over his face and dimmed the delight in it. "Mebbe you don't know how
to?" he added, a tremulous upward lift to his voice.