Some one had thrust an old guitar in his hands, and he stood nervously picking at the strings.  He might have been standing there still had not the moon come to his rescue.  It climbed slowly out of the sea and sent a shimmer of silver and gold over the water, across the deck, and into his eyes.  He forgot himself and the crowd.  The stream of mystical romance that flows through the veins of every true Irishman was never lacking in Sandy.  His heart responded to the beautiful as surely as the echo answers the call.

He seized the guitar, and picking out the notes with clumsy, faltering fingers, sang: 

    “Ah!  The moment was sad when my love and I parted,
      Savourneen deelish, signan O!”

His boyish voice rang out clear and true, softening on the refrain to an indescribable tenderness that steeped the old song in the very essence of mystery and love.

    “As I kiss’d off her tears, I was nigh broken-hearted!—­
      Savourneen deelish, signan O!”

He could remember his mother singing him to sleep by it, and the bright red of her lips as they framed the words: 

    “Wan was her cheek which hung on my shoulder;
    Chill was her hand, no marble was colder;
    I felt that again I should never behold her;
      Savourneen deelish, signan O!”

As the song trembled to a close, a slight burst of applause came from the cabin deck.  Sandy looked up, frowned, and bit his lip.  He did not know why, but he was sorry he had sung.

The next morning the America sailed into New York harbor, band playing and flags flying.  She was bringing home a record and a jubilant crew.  On the upper decks passengers were making merry over what is probably the most joyful parting in the world.  In the steerage all was bustle and confusion and anticipation of the disembarking.

Eagerly, wistfully watching it all, stood Sandy, as alert and distressed as a young hound restrained from the hunt.  It is something to accept punishment gracefully, but to accept punishment when it can be avoided is nothing short of heroism.  Sandy had to shut his eyes and grip the railing to keep from planning an escape.  Spread before him in brave array across the water lay the promised land—­and, like Moses, he was not to reach it.

“That’s the greatest city in America,” said the ship’s surgeon as he came up to where he was standing.  “What do you think of it?”

“I never seen one stand on end afore!” exclaimed Sandy, amazed.

“Would you like to go ashore long enough to look about?” asked the doctor, with a smile running around the fat folds of his cheeks.

“And would I?” asked Sandy, his eyes flying open.  “It’s me word of honor I’d give you that I’d come back.”

“The word of a stowaway, eh?” asked the doctor, still smiling.

In a moment Sandy’s face was crimson.  “Whatever I be, sir, I ain’t a liar!”