“I—why, I’ve just sung with mamma; though papa says that when I am older, if he is able, I shall have other teachers. I don’t think anybody can be better than mamma, though,” she answered.
“Something else, little girl,” came the prompt request.
It was as pure enjoyment to her as to him. She sang whatever came to her mind, and many old ballads suggested by himself. With each one he grew more enthusiastic, and finally called Peter to bring him his flute.
By this time that bewildered creature was prepared for anything. When he and Massa Joe had been young, music and the flute had been their mutual delight. But it was years and years since that ancient instrument had been breathed upon, though it always lay, wrapped in its swaddling clothes, convenient to its owner’s desk. Alas, when it was brought, it uttered but the ghosts of former melodies, yet nobody in that small company was the sadder for that. The unusual sounds stole through the house, bewitched Lafayette from his cleaning and Apollo from his range. Open-eyed, they stood without the library door and wasted their time, with none to reprove; because, for once, the sharp eyes of the major-domo, Peter, were bent upon a more delectable sight.
Into the midst of this happy scene came the discordant ring of the electric bell, and instantly all other sounds ceased.
“Who in the world would trespass upon us, on such a day as this!” cried Mr. Smith, at last arousing from the unusual mood into which he had been betrayed by Josephine’s sweet voice.
“Maybe it’s company, Uncle Joe.”
“No company comes here without invitation, child.”
“I came, didn’t I? But we didn’t know that, then.”
“Business, I suppose. Always business; and to-day I’m unfitted for all business.”