"No, I don't mean anything like that," said Vinzi. "I only wish to hear the music again."
"The music? Do you mean what I was playing when you came? That really is no present. What is your name?" the little girl asked, suddenly interrupting her own line of thought.
When Vinzi mentioned his name, she replied, "And mine is Alida Thornau. Practising gets so tedious that I play one of my little pieces between exercises. Do you have to practise too?"
"What do you mean by practise?"
"Oh, don't you know? Then you are lucky!" she exclaimed. "You see, practising is sitting still on a round stool and everlastingly running your fingers up and down on the piano. That is called playing the scale, and repeating it over and over is called finger practise."
"OH, DID YOU FIND MY SCARF AND BRING IT BACK TO ME?" SHE ASKED.
"Why do you have to practise?" asked Vinzi in wonder.
"Because one has to obey," answered Alida, "and Miss Landrat ordered me to practise from two to three o'clock every day. I have no lessons here like I do in Hamburg, but every time papa comes down here, I have to promise again to obey my governess. You see papa is up at the baths with mama because she is sick."
"How did you learn to play that pretty piece?" asked Vinzi who had listened to all this with intense interest.