The tinkle tinkle of the thin notes grew stronger and clearer and they found that a third instrument, which had puzzled them, was a mouth organ.
“I didn’t suppose anybody could really make music with a mouth organ, but it goes nicely with the others.” Chicken Little, like Katy, was more excited 155over the serenade than the party. It seemed so delightfully young ladyfied.
The trio had one awful moment, for the music seemed to be dying away and still there was no human in sight. Suddenly it stopped altogether. They listened and waited–not a sound rewarded them.
“I think it’s downright mean if they’ve gone by.” Mamie’s tone was more than injured.
The words were hardly out of her mouth when a stealthy foot-fall came directly beneath their window, and guitar, mandolin, and mouth organ burst forth into “My Bonnie,” supported after the opening strains by half a dozen boyish voices.
The boys had crept in so close to the wall of the house that the girls had not discovered them. The young ladies ducked at the first sound, and hastily slipped their dresses over their night gowns so they could look out again.
“O dear,” said Mamie, “I almost forgot my curl papers.”
They were arrayed in time to reward the serenaders with a vigorous clapping of hands, Father and Mother Jenkins joining in from the window of their bedroom downstairs.
“Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” floated up next, followed by “Over the Garden Wall,” which, if not 156choice, had the distinction of being sung in New York, as Grant Stowe proudly informed them.
It was three o’clock past, before they finally settled down in bed once more. Faint suggestions of dawn were already apparent.