Calhoun greatly enjoyed showing Mary Keith about the house and grounds; calling her attention particularly to such parts of them as were more especially associated with the experiences of his Cousin Elsie’s early life; for Mary was a deeply interested listener to everything he had to tell on the subject.
Toward tea-time all had gathered on the verandas and the lawn in front of the house. The young people and little ones were somewhat weary with romping games and roaming over the grounds, so that very little was going on among them except a bit of quiet chat here and there between some of the older people.
Walter, always eager for the sports Cousin Ronald could make for them with his ventriloquism, stepped to the back of the old gentleman’s chair and made a whispered request for an exertion of his skill in that line.
“Wait a bit, laddie, and I’ll see what can be done,” replied Mr. Lilburn, ever willing to indulge the boy, who was a great favorite with him.
Walter took possession of a vacant chair near at hand, and patiently waited. Mr. Lilburn gave his son a slight sign, hardly noticed by any one else, and almost immediately the notes of a flute came softly to the ear as if from some distance.
Instantly conversation was hushed and all listened intently. It seemed but a prelude, and presently a rich tenor voice struck in and sang a pretty Scotch ballad, the flute playing an accompaniment.
Many looks of surprise were exchanged, for surely Cousin Ronald could not be responsible for it all; he could not both sing and play the flute at the same time, and the questions, “Who are they? What does it mean?” passed from one to another.
“What you doing? what you ’bout?” screamed a harsh voice, apparently from a tree-top near at hand.
“None o’ your business,” croaked another.
Walter started up and whispered in the old gentleman’s ear, “Why, Cousin Ronald, are there two of you to-night? or—no, it can’t be that Max is here?”