"Good! Good!" was the immediate acclamation.
Bob sat down resignedly.
"I don't think a crueller sentence could have been passed," he said with a mock groan.
"Between ourselves," said Mrs. Orban, as the children rushed into the drawing-room to fetch the banjo, "there is no tea in the pot, and you may as well sing till the kettle is boiling."
Bob took the banjo with the air of a martyr and tuned it skilfully.
"I choose my own song," he said, struck a few chords, and began, in his really beautiful voice,—
"Dey told us darkies right away out west
In England men make der money much de best,
And I believed dat ebry word was true,
So dat is why I come along wid you.
Oho you and de banjo."
"Oh, oh, oh," interrupted the children, "more treason! If you sing that song you will have to do another as well."
"You can't hang a man after his head is cut off," said Bob stolidly, and went on,—
"But now we're here, why, de money doesn't grow,
And we ain't got nuffin' but de old banjo:
So we rove the streets if de wedder's wet or dry,
Till my heart most breaks and der's water in your eye.
Oho you and de banjo."