Ada being in our room with a cold, Mr. Skimpole was left alone all this time and entertained himself by playing snatches of pathetic airs and sometimes singing to them (as we heard at a distance) with great expression and feeling. When we rejoined him in the drawing-room he said he would give us a little ballad which had come into his head "apropos of our young friend," and he sang one about a peasant boy,

Mr. Skimpole was left alone all this time and entertained himself by playing snatches of pathetic airs and sometimes singing to them with great expression and feeling. When we rejoined him in the drawing-room he sang us a little ballad about a peasant boy,
