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day to day."

      "Well, but what did your grandfather say?"

      "Why, Mary," said Margaret, half smiling, "I'm a bit loath to tell yo, for unless yo knew grandfather's ways like me, yo'd think it strange. He were taken by surprise, and he said: 'Damn yo!' Then he began looking at his book as it were, and were very quiet, while I telled him all about it; how I'd feared, and how downcast I'd been; and how I were now reconciled to it, if it were th' Lord's will; and how I hoped to earn money by singing; and while I were talking, I saw great big tears come dropping on th' book; but in course I never let on that I saw 'em. Dear grandfather! and all day long he's been quietly moving things out o' my way, as he thought might trip me up, and putting things in my way, as he thought I might want; never knowing I saw and felt what he were doing; for, yo see, he thinks I'm out and out blind, I guess—as I shall be soon."

      Margaret sighed, in spite of her cheerful and relieved tone.

      Though Mary caught the sigh, she felt it was better to let it pass without notice, and began, with the tact which true sympathy rarely fails to supply, to ask a variety of questions respecting her friend's musical debut, which tended to bring out more distinctly how successful it had been.

      "Why, Margaret," at length she exclaimed, "thou'lt become as famous, may be, as that grand lady fra' London, as we seed one night driving up to th' concert room door in her carriage."

      "It looks very like it," said Margaret, with a smile. "And be sure, Mary, I'll not forget to give thee a lift now an' then when that comes about. Nay, who knows, if thou'rt a good girl, but mayhappen I may make thee my lady's maid! Wouldn't that be nice? So I'll e'en sing to mysel' th' beginning o' one o' my songs,

      'An' ye shall walk in silk attire,

       An' siller hae to spare.'"

      "Nay, don't stop; or else give me something a bit more new, for somehow I never quite liked that part about thinking o' Donald mair."

      "Well, though I'm a bit tir'd, I don't care if I do. Before I come, I were practising well nigh upon two hours this one which I'm to sing o' Thursday. Th' lecturer said he were sure it would just suit me, and I should do justice to it; and I should be right sorry to disappoint him, he were so nice and encouraging like to me. Eh! Mary, what a pity there isn't more o' that way, and less scolding and rating i' th' world! It would go a vast deal further. Beside, some o' th' singers said they were a'most certain it were a song o' his own, because he were so fidgetty and particular about it, and so anxious I should give it th' proper expression. And that makes me care still more. Th' first verse, he said, were to be sung 'tenderly, but joyously!' I'm afraid I don't quite hit that, but I'll try.

      'What a single word can do!

       Thrilling all the heart-strings through,

       Calling forth fond memories,

       Raining round hope's melodies,

       Steeping all in one bright hue—

       What a single word can do!'

      Now it falls into th' minor key, and must be very sad like. I feel as if I could do that better than t'other.

      'What a single word can do!

       Making life seem all untrue,

       Driving joy and hope away,

       Leaving not one cheering ray

       Blighting every flower that grew—

       What a single word can do!'"

      Margaret certainly made the most of this little song. As a factory worker, listening outside, observed, "She spun it reet27 fine!" And if she only sang it at the Mechanics' with half the feeling she put into it that night, the lecturer must have been hard to please, if he did not admit that his expectations were more than fulfilled.

      When it was ended, Mary's looks told more than words could have done what she thought of it; and partly to keep in a tear which would fain have rolled out, she brightened into a laugh, and said, "For certain, th' carriage is coming. So let us go and dream on it."

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