After a discreet silence Aunt Mean appeared in the front doorway. A brief introduction had scarcely passed before she said, aside to Gertrude, in low but decidedly distinct tones, “A very likely young man, my dear, very likely. You showed good taste. I persume there ain’t a better looking in our neighborhood,” adding, reflectively, “It’s a mighty serious business, this gittin’ a man.”
Chee wondered if Aunt Mean spoke from experience, and if it wouldn’t have been a very serious matter indeed if Aunt Mean had ever attempted to “git” any man other than her brother. During the embarrassment that followed, Mr. Farrar found occasion to remark that it was getting late, and Cousin Gertrude felt obliged to go for her hat. But before entering the carriage she managed to whisper to Chee, “Don’t undress when you go up-stairs to-night—we shall be home early.”
What a long day it seemed to Chee! How anxiously she listened for the sound of wheels on the driveway!
After all she watched in vain, for they had left the carriage before the Bend was reached. The first she knew of their coming was a step on the stairway—very soft, like stocking feet. She opened the door a little. “Take off your shoes please, Chee, and come down into the parlor awhile.”
It was fortunate that the bedrooms occupied by Miss Almeana and her brother were at the extreme end of the house. Furthermore, both were slightly deaf and extraordinarily sound sleepers.
In the parlor the cousins and Mr. Farrar gathered around Chee’s tin lamp. “And so you have had no instructor but that minister,” he began. “We saw him to-day, and, as he himself says, he doesn’t know much about music. You can read notes, he tells me.”
“Easy music,” answered Chee, bashfully. The dreaded ordeal had come—her secret was out.
“Well, that’s good, but how in the world did you learn to manage the instrument? Who taught you to hold it, child?”
“I don’t know, Cousin Herman, I think perhaps I hold it just as Daddy did, maybe I don’t, though. It’s so long since I’ve seen him I can’t be sure.” This last was added a little wearily. “What has the way I hold Daddy’s fiddle to do with Cousin Herman?” she wondered.
“It’s just as I say,” exclaimed Mr. Farrar, turning to Gertrude,—“inherited talent. Probably the father was only a fair player, but unless I’m stepping down a peg, the child’s a genius.” Chee wondered if a genius was something nice, but, because she disliked to show her ignorance, refrained from asking.