“Would you like it as much as that?”
“I’d love it!”
“Then we shall see about it at once. I’m going to send your Mother and Amy Lou to your grandmother’s this summer, but not all of you could go there. Dick and Doris might take turns. And how would you like to keep house for me, practice violin, and get taken on rides to give you an occasional breath of the country?”
“That would be great. I’m not a good housekeeper, though.”
“We’ll never tell anybody how we keep house, Betty, and I’ll be ‘boss.’ We’ll drive over to the Conservatory, Saturday, sign you up for violin with somebody–come on child. Gather up your flowers. We must go home.”
Mr. Lee sprang to his feet, gave a hand to Betty, who did not need it, but accepted it.
“But Father, I don’t know how good the old violin is and the bow is terrible. It never did do what it ought to! How can I begin?”
“The trouble with the ‘old violin’ is not that it is ‘old,’ Betty,” laughed Mr. Lee, as Betty ran after him on his way to the car. “It simply isn’t much good at all. You shall have a better one. You used to play some sweet little tunes. Here’s for a Stradivarius or ‘whatever it is,’ as you say. And you shall see how I keep you at hard work this summer! We’ll have some of the school extras or perish in the attempt.”
Betty chuckled as she climbed into the car. “All right, my dear Daddy. The neighbors will hate me, but I’ll practice, and it can’t be any worse than that horn across the street. How did you read my mind and know that I’d rather be in an orchestra than take piano lessons?”
“It was just instinct, Betty,” replied Mr. Lee, as he started the car, “with perhaps a few deductions and putting two and two together.”