The Imp and the Drum
Bang!
Bang!
Bang, bang, bang!
A few feet began to keep time, but the sound was not very different from that produced by a stick hit against the wall, and big Hans, whose father played in a band, and who had attended many rehearsals—it was from him the drum had been procured—shook his head solemnly.
"Not so! Not so!" he said in his thick, gruff voice. "You no hit good! You no hit hard!"
"Oh, Hans, can you play it?" cried Miss Eleanor eagerly. "Here, take it!" And she flung the strap over his shoulder.
Hans shambled out to the centre of the room, and struck a mighty blow. The familiar deep sound of a drum filled the place, and Miss Eleanor sighed with relief, but alas! her joy was short-lived, for poor Hans had no idea of time, and could only pound away like a hammer. In vain she held his hand and tried to guide his strokes. The noise was deafening, but no more to be marched to than thunder.
Little Pierre tried next, but though he kept perfect time, and looked very cunning in his little
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