Not one spurned the invitation, and when the raucous noise subsided Philomel Whiffet tapped the tuning fork briskly on the edge of the stand, put it to his ear, and listened as he gazed thoughtfully downward.

"Do! Me! Sol! Do!" he sang in staccato notes, nodding the sparse gray foretop jerkily with each note as bass, alto, tenor, soprano took up their pitch. Thereupon he seized the pointer, a long switch kept conveniently near in the corner, and indicated the first note of the staff.

Scarcely had the pointer tapped a full measure before the school realized they were singing by note an old familiar tune and with that they burst forth with the words:

Oh! have you heard Geography sung?

For if you've not it's on my tongue; First the capitals one by one, United States, Washington.

They changed the meter only slightly as they boomed forth:

Augusta, Maine, on the Kennebec River, Concord, New Hampshire, on the Merrimac.

Of course they knew it was the Geography Song from their McGuffey Reader which the singing master had set to tune. To make sure they had not forgotten the McGuffey piece he halted the singing and directed that they speak over the piece together, which they did with a verve:

Oh! have you heard Geography sung?

For if you've not, it's on my tongue; About the earth in air that's hung.

All covered with green, little islands.

Oceans, gulfs, and bays, and seas; Channels and straits, sounds, if you please; Great archipelagoes, too, and all these Are covered with green, little islands.

Philomel Whiffet sometimes had his school do unexpected things that way.

And now once again they went on with the geography singing lesson, putting in the names of places and rivers to the tune.

Far and wide traveled Philomel Whiffet's singing school, wafted by note from freedom's shore to African wilds. They knew it all by heart. On and on they sang, and Drusilla Osborn's voice led all the rest:

Bolivia capital Suc-re Largest city in South America

Mexico is Mexico Government Republican

Around the world and back again, nor did they stop until they again went through all the States, finishing with a lusty:

New Hampshire's capital is for a fact Concord on the Merrimac.

Silence came at last.

Taking from the stand the songbook, Philomel placed a hand behind him and announced with quiet decorum, "Those who have brought their notebooks will please open them up to page--" he faltered, fumbling the leaves of his book. "Open to page--" still groping was Philomel Whiffet and squinting at the faded pages. "Those who have not brought their notebooks can look on with someone else." Trying to act unconcerned was the singing master. "Turn to one--of our--old favorites," poor old Whiffet murmured, still fumbling the pages of the book. "My eyes--are dim"--he mumbled in confusion--"I--cannot see." Vainly he searched his vest pockets, the pockets of his coat. "--I've left my specs at home,"

he blurted in desperation.

With that the tantalizing Drusilla Osborn, from her bench at the back of the room, nudged the girl beside her and, pointing to the staff of music left on the wall where Philomel had placed it,--Dru began to hum.

"You've pitched it too shaller," whispered the other girl, and quickly Dru hummed a lower register until her companion caught the pitch; then the two sang loud and shrill:

My eyes are dim, I cannot see, My specs I left at home.

And before Philomel Whiffet knew what had happened, sopranos, altos, and bass had taken up the tune. Even Jonathan Witchcott, for all he sat on the very front bench where anybody could see with half an eye that the singing master was plagued and shamefaced, let out his booming bass with all his might and main. Hadn't Drusilla pitched the tune? What else was the doting Jonathan to do? The two had been courting full six months, just to spite Mathias Oneby if for no other reason. And Mathias, the patient and meek fellow, sitting in the far corner of the very last bench straight across from the adored Drusilla, sitting where anyone could see that Dru was playing a prank, when he heard the mighty boom of his rival, joined in with his high tenor:

My eyes are dim, I cannot see, My specs I left at home.

Louder and stronger roared Jonathan's bass. And Mathias, not to be excelled, raised his shrill notes higher still, sweeping the sopranos along with him.

Bethel church house fairly trembled on its foundation. Poor old Philomel Whiffet raised his hands in dismay: "I did not mean for you to sing!" he cried, and again Drusilla took up his words:

I did not mean for you to sing

and louder swelled the chorus. All the while the singing master stood trembling, shaking his white head hopelessly. "I did not mean for you to sing," he pleaded, "I only meant my eyes were dim!"

His words merely spurred them on. On surged the voices, bass, soprano, alto, tenor, in loud and mighty

I did not mean for you to sing, I only meant my eyes were dim.

The singing master fumbled his woolly wristbands, thrust his hands deep into pockets of coat and breeches, and peered searchingly about the little stand where, it was plain to see, was nothing but the songbook which he had dropped in his confusion. At last his trembling hand sought the sparse foretop. There, bless you, rested the lost spectacles. He yanked them to the bridge of his nose, and then, just as though he didn't know all the time it was Drusilla Osborn behind the prank, he turned his attention toward that pretty young miss.

"Drusilla"--you'd never suspect what he was up to--"we all favor your voice in the ditty of My Son John. And you, Jonathan Witchcott, I don't know of any other fellow that can better sing the part of the courting man than you yourself. And I'm satisfied that no fairer maid was ever wooed than Dru yonder. So lead off, lest the other fellow get the best of you."

Almost before Jonathan was aware of it he was singing, with his eyes turned yearningly upon Dru:

My man John, what can the matter be, That I should love the lady fair and she should not love me?

She will not be my bride, my joy nor my dear, And neither will she walk with me anywhere.

Then, lest a moment be lost, the singing master himself egged on the swain by singing the part of the man John:

Court her, dearest Master, you court her without fear, And you will win the lady in the space of half a year; And she will be your bride, your joy and your dear, And she will take a walk with you anywhere.

Encouraged by the smiling school, Jonathan Witchcott took up the song, turning yearningly to Dru who now smiled coyly, head to one side, while he entreated:

Oh, Madam, I will give to you a little greyhound, And every hair upon its back shall cost a thousand pound, If you will be my bride, my joy and my dear, And you will take a walk with me anywhere.

Scarcely had the last note left his lips when Drusilla, now that all eyes were turned upon her, sang coquettishly:

Oh, Sir, I won't accept of you a little greyhound, Though every hair upon its back did cost a thousand pound, I will not be your bride, your joy nor your dear, And neither will I walk with you anywhere.

With added fervor Jonathan offered more:

Oh, Madam, I will give you a fine ivory comb, To fasten up your silver locks when I am not at home.

That too Dru spurned, but all the same she was watching nervously--indeed Dru was watching anxiously--Tizzie Scaggs, lest she take up Jonathan's offer, which is another girl's right in the play-game song.

Quickly Jonathan Witchcott, knowing all this, sang pleadingly:

Oh, Madam, I will give to you the keys of my heart, To lock it up forever that we never more may part, If you will be my bride, my joy and my dear.

Whereupon Drusilla, her eyes sparkling, her rosy lips parted temptingly, sang:

Oh, Sir, I will accept of you the keys of your heart; I'll lock it up forever and we never more will part, And I will be your bride, your joy and your dear, And I will take a walk with you anywhere.

When her last note ended Dru turned demurely toward Jonathan, whereupon that happy swain leaped to his feet and, extending a hand toward the singing master, sang:

My man, Philomel Whiffet, here's fifty pounds, for thee, I'd never have won this lady fair if it hadn't been for thee.

With that the whole singing school cheered and laughed.