But music of some
sort I must have."
Laughing, they tuned their instruments, and the rest of the company
settled down to listen. Lanse, his eyes mischievous, passed a whispered
word among the musicians, and presently, at the signal, the well-known
notes of "_Hail to the Chief_" were sounding through the woods, played
with great spirit and zest. And as they played, the five Birches marched
to position in front of the captain, then stood still and saluted.
"Off with you, you strolling players!" cried the captain. "The spectacle
of a 'cello player attempting to carry his instrument and perform upon
it at the same time is enough to upset me for a week. Sit down
comfortably, and give us '_The Sweetest Flower That Blows_.'"
So they played, softly now, and with full appreciation of the fact that
the melodious song was one of their mother's favourites.
But suddenly they had a fresh surprise, for as they played, a voice from
the little audience joined them, under his breath at first, then--as the
captain turned and made vigorous signs to the singer to let his voice be
heard--with tunefully swelling notes, which fell upon all their ears
like music of a rare sort:
"The sweetest flower that blows
I give you as we part.
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