“Good idea,” replied Agony enthusiastically.  “Get all the Winnebagos together and let’s sing her some of our own songs, the ones we’ve practicsed so much together at home.  You bring your mandolin, Migs, and tell Hinpoha to bring her guitar.  Hurry, we’ll have to do it fast to get back for lights out.”

Miss Amesbury, wearily finishing her evening’s work, was suddenly greeted by a burst of song from beneath her balcony; a surpassing deep, rich alto, beautifully blended with a number of clear, pure sopranos, accompanied by mandolin and guitar.  It was a song she had not heard in years, one which held a beautiful, tender association for her: 

  “I would that my love could silently
  Flow in a single word—­”

A mist came over her eyes as she listened, and the gates of memory swung back on their golden hinges, revealing another scene, when she had listened to that song sung by a voice now long since hushed.  She put her hand over her eyes as if in pain, then dropped it slowly into her lap and sat leaning back in her chair listening with hungry ears to the familiar strains.  When the last note had echoed itself quite away she leaned over the balcony and called down softly, “Thanks, many thanks, girls.  You do not know what a treat you have given me.  Who are you?  I know one of you must be Agony, I recognize her alto, but who are the rest of you?  The Winnebagos?  I might have guessed it.  You are dear girls to think of me up here by myself and to put yourselves out to give me pleasure.  Come and visit me in the daytime, every one of you.  There goes the last bugle.  Goodnight, girls.  Thank you a thousand times!”

The Winnebagos scurried off toward the Alley, in high spirits at the success of their little plan.  Migwan actually trembled with joy.  At last she had been invited up on Miss Amesbury’s fascinating little balcony.  True, the invitation had been a general one to all the Winnebagos, but nevertheless, it was a beginning.

“Miss Amesbury must have been very tired tonight,” she confided to Hinpoha.  “Her voice actually shook when she thanked us for singing.”

“I noticed it, too,” replied Hinpoha, beginning to pull her middy off over her head as she walked along.

When Agony reached the door of Gitchee-Gummee she remembered that she had left her camp hat lying in the path below Mateka, where they had stood to serenade Miss Amesbury, and fearing that the wind, which was increasing in velocity, might blow it into the river before morning, she hastened back to rescue it.  She moved quietly, for it was after lights out and she did not wish to disturb the camp.  Miss Amesbury’s lamp was extinguished and her balcony was shrouded in darkness by the shadow of the tall pine which grew against it.

“She must be very tired,” thought Agony, remembering Migwan’s words, “and is already in bed.”

Agony felt carefully over the shadowy ground for her hat, found it and started back up the path.  But the beauty of the moonlight on the river tempted her to loiter and dream along the bluff before returning to her tent.  Enchanted by the magic scene beneath her, she stood still and gazed for many minutes at the gleaming river of water which seemed to her like pure molten silver.