"I wish Uncle Edward would buy one," Gerald remarked; "perhaps he will."
"Oh no, I should think not! Pianos are very expensive," Angel reminded him.
"I don't believe he would mind the expense! How well mother used to play, didn't she? Father used to say she could make the piano speak."
"Yes, and he used to ask her to play to him evenings, and she would sing to us, too. I do hope I shall get on with my music, I love it so. One Saturday afternoon, I was passing the church with Dinah and Dora Mickle, and we heard some one playing the organ—it was the organist practising. We went in and sat down in a pew, and listened to him for more than an hour. I think sacred music is grand, don't you? Dinah knew the names of some of the pieces he played; one was, 'Comfort ye my people.' Oh, it was beautiful!" And she began to sing the refrain softly under her breath.
Gerald had been listening in rather an absentminded manner, his mind occupied with wondering who could have told tales of him to Angel, since it had not been Gilbert Mickle.
"It's Dora's birthday next week," Angel said presently, "and I believe we are to be invited to the Mickles to have tea in the garden. Won't it be fun? Dora will be the Queen of the day. She will be nine years old. I know what Dinah is going to give her for a birthday present, she has been saving her money for it for weeks, but I've promised not to tell. I cannot think what I shall give Dora; I've only eighteen pence!"
"Eighteen pence," Gerald repeated thoughtfully. "And when is Dora's birthday?"
"Next Tuesday."
"Oh! Well, you wouldn't mind lending me sixpence or so, if I pay you again on Saturday, would you?"
"No—o," Angel responded doubtfully, looking aghast, and wishing she had not mentioned the subject of money; "but—are you sure you will be able to pay me then?"