"I think," she said with pleasant dignity, "you will find
everything you need."

I cannot tell with what solid pleasure I rolled into bed or how
soundly and sweetly I slept.

This was the first day of my real adventures.



CHAPTER II. I WHISTLE

When I was a boy I learned after many discouragements to play on
a tin whistle. There was a wandering old fellow in our town who
would sit for hours on the shady side of a certain ancient
hotel-barn, and with his little whistle to his lips, and gently
swaying his head to his tune and tapping one foot in the gravel,
he would produce the most wonderful and beguiling melodies. His
favourite selections were very lively; he played, I remember,
"Old Dan Tucker," and "Money Musk," and the tune of a rollicking
old song, now no doubt long forgotten, called "Wait for the
Wagon." I can see him yet, with his jolly eyes half closed, his
lips puckered around the whistle, and his fingers curiously and
stiffly poised over the stops. I am sure I shall never forget the
thrill which his music gave to the heart of a certain barefoot
boy.

At length, by means I have long since forgotten, I secured a tin
whistle exactly like Old Tom Madison's and began diligently to