“She could stand before kings.”
“And the kings might well feel honoured.”
We walked slowly back as Ethel was trying to see how many kinds of wild flowers she could pick. Mrs. Dana’s book had had an effect upon her she had not anticipated and I was afraid that she was going to become a botanist and talk about pistils and stamens, and things.
I believe she had picked twenty-five different “weeds,” as the farmers thereabouts called them, when she stopped and stood erect and listened.
“Where’s that piano?”
“Is it a piano,” said I, not willing to believe the evidence of my ears. We were about ten rods from our house and there is not another house nearer than a quarter of a mile and no piano within a half mile.
“It certainly is a piano and in our house,” said she.
What we had heard were preliminary chords and now to a bang-bang accompaniment we heard the pleasing lyric, “Hannah, Won’t You Open That Door,” and recognized the voice as that of James.
“First a crimson rambler and now a piano,” said I. “I suppose he planted a few keys and the piano sprang up quickly.”
“Well, what does it mean?”