The four Corners

by Amy Ella Blanchard

Nan nodded. Her hands were cold, her face flushed, never had she gone through such an ordeal. Yet she knew she must do her best and somehow the mere pleasure of making music took from her all fear after the first few weak notes. She played through the little air her aunt had heard, with taste and expression. A soft clapping of hands rewarded her.

Mr. Harmer nodded approvingly at Mrs. Corner. "Come here, my dear," he said to Nan. He took her hand and looked at the long, slim fingers. "Do you love music well enough to work very hard, to give up play when you ought to practice dull exercises, to study patiently and long?"

"I think so. I know so," said Nan, earnestly. "I'd do anything to be able to play as you do."

Mr. Harmer smiled. "I think you needn't hesitate, Mrs. Corner," he said. "Now, where's that song you were telling me of?" Nan reluctantly brought it. Mr. Harmer looked it over without a comment. "Do you make many tunes?" he said.

"Oh, yes," returned Nan. "I make them all the time. Sometimes I forget them very soon, and sometimes they stay in my head and come back again and again."

Mr. Harmer nodded. "Thank you, my dear. It is a pleasure to meet such a little music lover."

He went back to the piano and was playing a wonderful nocturne when Ran called to take Nan home. Her grandmother kissed her good-night with unusual warmth, her Aunt Helen hugged her and Mr. Harmer shook hands cordially, saying he hoped to live to see her a fine pianist. So Nan went home with a glow in her heart and a faint little hope that her grandmother would let her come there sometimes to play.

The question of presents for her grandmother and Aunt Helen remained unsettled till the very day before Christmas, but as the children had been very industrious with their other presents and the box to their mother had been sent, there was little left for them to do but to trim the tree, which the boys had cut the day before, and which was standing in its spicy greenness in the corner of the living-room. "If we only had the things, we could make a fine cake," said Nan. "We have eggs enough, but Aunt Sarah says we can't afford the butter; it is so high this time of year. I have decided to take Aunt Helen my palm. It is looking fine."

"Oh, but Nan, you are so fond of it, and Mrs. Wise sent it to you," said Jack.

"I know, but I must give her something I am very fond of, for she has been so perfectly dear to me." It was quite true that the palm was dear to Nan. It represented a sort of tropical luxuriance in which she delighted. She loved the outline of its shadows, the tracery of the pointed leaves against the window curtain, and its general aspect as it stood in one of the front windows of the living-room. To give it up was really a sacrifice, but one she made willingly.