"There! what do you think of that?" said he, looking in Uncle Lot's face with much delight.
Uncle Lot turned and marched into the house, but soon faced to the right-about, and came out again, for James was fingering "Yankee Doodle"—that appropriate national air for the descendants of the Puritans.
Uncle Lot's patriotism began to bestir itself; and now, if it had been any thing, as he said, but "that 'are flute"—as it was, he looked more than once at James's fingers.
"How under the sun could you learn to do that?" said he.
"O, it's easy enough," said James, proceeding with another tune; and, having played it through, he stopped a moment to examine the joints of his flute, and in the mean time addressed Uncle Lot: "You can't think how grand this is for pitching tunes—I always pitch the tunes on Sunday with it."
"Yes; but I don't think it's a right and fit instrument for the Lord's house," said Uncle Lot.
"Why not? It is only a kind of a long pitchpipe, you see," said James; "and, seeing the old one is broken, and this will answer, I don't see why it is not better than nothing."
"Why, yes, it may be better than nothing," said Uncle Lot; "but, as I always tell Grace and my wife, it ain't the right kind of instrument, after all; it ain't solemn."
"Solemn!" said James; "that is according as you work it: see here, now."
So saying, he struck up Old Hundred, and proceeded through it with great perseverance.