A brief silence had fallen upon the little group at one end of the veranda, broken only by Nora's and Hippy's argumentative voices.
"Because both the someones are too busy to sing," laughed Jessica, casting a significant glance toward the end of the veranda.
"Hippy, Nora," called David, "come over here and sing." "'Sing, sing, what shall I sing ?'" chanted Hippy.

"Shall it be a sweetly sentimental ditty, or shall I sing of brooks and meadows, fields and flowers ?" "Sing that funny one you sang for the fellows the night of the Pi Ipsilon dinner," urged David.
"Very well," beamed Hippy.

"Remember, to the singer belongs the food.

I always negotiate for refreshments before lifting up my voice in song." "I will see that you are taken care of, Hippy," smiled Mrs.Harlowe, who had come out on the veranda in time to hear Hippy's declaration.
"Hello, Mother dear," called Grace, "I didn't know you were there." The young people were on their feet in an instant.

Grace led her mother to a chair.