"What! not one? not one leetle song, jist fer old times' sake?"
Tim ran his fingers through his hair in an abstracted manner. "There is one," he said, "I used to know, but it's so long since I've heard it, that I've clean forgotten the tune. It's something about 'Angels singing,' and 'New-born King,' but I guess——"
"I know it! I know it!" broke in Pete eagerly. "I'll whistle the air, fer I've sung it out on the hills, to cheer me up a bit. It goes this way, see?"
Tim listened, began to hum the tune softly to himself, and then reached for the violin.
"No, ye ain't got it yit, Tim; try agin," and Pete whistled it over once more.
After several efforts Tim finally rasped out the air of "Hark, the Angels Sing."
"That's her," exclaimed Pete with delight. "Now ye've got her, go ahead."
Once more Tim steered his way through the piece, and was about to begin the third time, when a peculiar noise sounded outside.
"Hark! what's that?" cried one of the men.
"Wind," replied another. "It's a bad night."