[The singing is almost certainly lovely. There's certainly an easy rhythm to the tune, and an identifiable clarity in her voice. The children seem to take to it well enough, which is far more important than Horatio abruptly growing the capacity to actually appreciate music or identify pitch.

Much more happily, the captivation of the children makes the room begin to feel faintly more familiar. Now that they're quiet and somewhat attentive, a number of their faces resemble far more the eager brightness of the ship's boys Horatio is far more used to wrangling. It's a natural thing to flit quietly down the rows, embellishing the chorus with the odd tuneless whistle and--more importantly--gently nudging the odd shoulder when a young attention span began to drift.

This is good. This is manageable. Craft is-- infinitely less so, but this is hardly the time to risk letting the calm that's settled over the room deteriorate again.]

Bit like everything else, ma'am. Matter of practice. [Another boy's attention seems to be wandering, but it's easily corrected by a light nudge.] Miss was nice enough to show us a song. Shall we thank her by showing her a bit of vanishing?

[Children have an oddly stringent sense of fairness, after all--more than quite a number of adults he'd known over the years.]