Sometimes the music would be tender and dreamy, like a native mother's crooning to her young; sometimes it would be so gay that the flesh tingled and the feet were urged to dance; again, it would be like the storms crashing, thunderous. She always managed to get back to the bungalow before he did. "You dropped this, sir. "'Faith, an' you may say that," returned a watchman, who was wiping a ruddy stream from his brow; "they've broken the paice, and our pates into the bargain. The popcorn dwindled to a half a bucket, his heart settled into its normal routine. But it sounds too real to be imagined.
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