Before the sun rises away we’ll fly,
Dull sleep and a downy bed scorning.
To horse, my brave boys, and away!
Bright Phœbus the hills is adorning;
The face of all nature looks gay;
’Tis a beautiful scent-laying morning.
Hark! hark! forward!
Tan-ta-ra! tan-ta-ra! tan-ta-ra!”
The song was not exactly appropriate to the occasion. The sky was not cloudy, but perfectly clear; and instead of a “southerly wind” there was a keen north wind blowing, which was so searching that the boys were glad to pull their comforters up around their faces again as soon as the song was finished, and walked up and down the porch beating their hands together to keep them warm. But, for all that, it was well sung and worth listening to; for these four boys understood music and delighted in it. Eugene was a good soprano, Featherweight carried the alto, Bab sang a fine tenor, and Perk’s bass was something better than common. Walter was the only one of the Club who had no music in his soul. He generally joined in the singing, and always made a discord; but on this particular morning he held his peace, having something else to think about. He had drawn back into the doorway to get out of the wind, and stood with one hand in his pocket, and the other holding a newspaper, at which his right eye, which was the only part of his face that could be seen over his muffler, was looking intently. When the song was finished he uttered an exclamation, and without stopping to explain read as follows:—