He had stuck to Henry's side like a dog, but with no more interest in the inquiry than a calf, indeed, his wandering eye and vacant face had indicated that his scanty wits were wool-gathering miles from the place that contained his body.
But, as soon as he entered the saw-grinders' room, his features lighted up, and his eye kindled.

He now took up a commanding position in the center, and appeared to be listening keenly.

And he had not listened many seconds before he cried out, "There's the bad music! there! there!" And he pointed to a grindstone that was turning and doing its work exactly like the others.

"Oh, the bad music!" cried Billy.

"It is out of tune.