With one accord the appreciative and mischievous audience left the windows and made a rush for the stairs. Headed by Jerry they exited quietly from the house and stole around its right-hand corner.
Absorbed in their own lyric efforts, the singers had reached the third sentimentally pathetic stanza:
“If but a bird were I, homeward to thee I’d fly;
Falcon nor hawk I’d fear, if thou wert near.
Shot by a hunter’s ball; would at thy feet I fall,
If but one ling’ring tear would dim thine eye.”
Ready to leave almost on the last line, they were not prepared for the merry crowd of girls who pounced suddenly upon them.
“How can you leave us, dears?” caroled Muriel Harding, as she caught firm hold of Robin Page. “You are not going to leave us. Don’t imagine it for a minute.”
CHAPTER II—UNDER THE SEPTEMBER STARS
“Captured by Sanfordites!” exclaimed Robin dramatically. “What fate is left to us now?” Despite her tragic utterance, she proceeded to a vigorous hand-shaking with Muriel.
“Now why couldn’t you have stayed upstairs like nice children and praised our modest efforts in your behalf instead of prancing down stairs to head us off?” inquired Phyllis in pretended disgust. “Not one of you has the proper idea of the romance which should attend a serenade. Of course, you didn’t know who was singing to you, and, of course, you just simply had to find out.”
“Don’t delude yourself with any such wild idea,” Jerry made haste to retort. “We knew Robin’s voice the minute she opened her mouth to sing ‘How Fair Art Thou.’ Now which one of us were you particularly referring to in that number? I took it straight to myself. Of course I may be a trifle presumptuous, Ahem!”
“Yes; ‘Ahem!’” mimicked Phyllis. “You are just the same good old, funny old scout, Jeremiah. Somebody please hold my violin while I embrace Jeremiah.”