a little upon the bugle, and it occurred to him that it would be a good thing to exhibit his skill to Julia.  So he went into the dark parlor and felt over the top of the piano for the horn.  It happened that his aunt from Penn’s Grove had been there that day and had left her brass ear-trumpet lying on the piano, and Peter got hold of this without perceiving the mistake, as the two were of similar shape.  He took it in his hand and went out on the porch where Miss Brown was sitting.  He asked Miss Brown if she was fond of music on the horn; and when she said she adored it, he asked her how she would like him to play “Ever of Thee;” and she said that was the only tune she cared anything for.

So Peter put the small end of the trumpet to his lips and blew.  He blew and blew.  Then he blew some more, and then he drew a fresh breath and blew again.  The only sound that came was a hollow moan, which sounded so queerly in the darkness that Miss Brown asked him if he was not well.  And when he said he was, she said that he went exactly like a second cousin of hers that had the asthma.

Then Peter remarked that somehow the horn was out of order for “Ever of Thee;” but if Miss Brown would like to hear “Sweetly I dreamed, Love,” he would try to play it, and Miss Brown said that the fondest recollections clustered about the melody.

So Peter put the trumpet to his lips again and strained his lungs severely in an effort to make some music.  It wouldn’t come, but he made a very singular noise, which induced Miss Brown to ask if the horse in the stable back of the house had heaves.  Then Peter said he thought somebody must have plugged the bugle up with something, and he asked his sister to light the gas in the entry while he cleaned it out.  When she did so, the ear-trumpet became painfully conspicuous, and both the girls laughed.  When Miss Brown laughed, Peter looked up at her with pain in his face, put on his hat and went out into the street, where he could express his feelings in violent terms.

A few nights later the Browns had a tea-party, to which Mr. Lamb was invited.  He went, determined to do his full share of entertaining the company.  While supper was in progress, Mr. Lamb said in a loud voice,

“By the way, did you read that mighty good thing in the Patriot the other day about the woman over in Bridgeport?  It was one of the most amusing things that ever came under my observation.  The woman’s name, you see, was Emma.  Well, there were two young fellows paying attention to her, and after she’d accepted one of them the other also proposed to her and as she felt certain that the first one wasn’t in earnest, she accepted the second one too.  So a few days later both of ’em called at the same time, both claimed her hand, and both insisted on marrying her at once.  Then, of course, she found herself face to face with a mighty unpleasant—­unpleasant—­Er—­er—­er—­Less see; what’s the word I want?  Unpleasant—­Er—­er—­Blamed if I haven’t forgotten that word.”