morning.

"Oh, to a place," answered Billy lightly.

"What place?" Loraine persisted curiously.

"Well," laughed Billy, "if you must know, I've been marching
through--oh, a _place_!" she concluded hastily, repenting herself.
"It was a pretty hard place, and I'm hungry as a bear. Wish somebody'd
say, 'Won't you have another piece of pie?'"

"Won't you have another piece of pie?" laughed Loraine, and nothing
further was said of an embarrassing nature.

The summer days grew into summer weeks. Patiently and joyously Old '61
plodded his way to the sea. He practiced nearly all his waking hours,
and when he was not at the little organ, practicing, he went about
humming the beloved words. Pride and love, rather than any melody of his
cracked old voice, made a tune of them.

His progress astonished his teacher. Her praise was impetuous enough for
further and greater exertions. One day Billy said the next time should
be an exhibition, when he should play it all--from "Atlanta to the
sea"--with her as audience, not helping, but sitting in a chair
listening.

She came to the Exhibition in a white dress, with sweet-peas at her
waist. Her smiles at the foot of the steps changed to something like a
sob when she discovered that Old '61 had been decorating the organ and
the little porch. He, himself, was brushed and radiant, his old face the