This afternoon, tired of scheming and conceiting for the future, I had a longing to be frivolous and care-free. So I got out the old rusty-rimmed banjo, tuned her up, and sat on an overturned milk-bucket, with Dinkie and Bobs and Poppsy and Pee-Wee for an audience.
I was leaning back with my knees crossed, strumming out _Turkey in the Straw_ when Peter walked up and sat down between Bobs and Dinkie. So I gave him _The Whistling Coon_, while the Twins lay there positively pop-eyed with delight, and he joined in with me on _Dixie_, singing in a light and somewhat throaty baritone. Then we swung on to _There's a Hole in the Bottom of the Sea_, which must always be sung to a church-tune, and still later to that dolorous ballad, _Oh, Bury Me Not on the Lone Prair-hee!_ Then we tried a whistling duet with banjo accompaniment, pretty well murdering the Tinker's Song from _Robin Hood_ until Whinstane Sandy, who was taking his Sabbath bath in the bunk-house, loudly opened the window and stared out with a dourly reproving countenance, which said as plain as words: "This is nae the day for whustlin', folks!"
But little Dinkie, obviously excited by the music, shouted "A-more! A-more!" so we went on, disregarding Whinnie and the bunk-house window and Struthers' acrid stare from the shack-door. I was in the middle of Fay Templeton's lovely old _Rosie, You Are My Posey_, when Lady Alicia rode up, as spick and span as though she'd just pranced off Rotten Row. And as I'd no intention of showing the white feather to her ladyship, I kept right on to the end. Then I looked up and waved the banjo at her where she sat stock-still on her mount. There was an enigmatic look on her face, but she laughed and waved back, whereupon Peter got up, and helped her dismount as she threw her reins over the pony's head.
I noticed that her eye rested very intently on Peter's face as I introduced him, and he in turn seemed to size the stately newcomer up in one of those lightning-flash appraisals of his. Then Lady Allie joined our circle, and confessed that she'd been homesick for a sight of the kiddies, especially Dinkie, whom she took on her knee and regarded with an oddly wistful and abstracted manner.