"Bain't him a cruel noisy thing?" exclaimed Mary, with a certain amount of enthusiasm. "What du'ye call 'en?" she asked a small, dried-up ancient man who sat beside her, while indicating the instrument of music with an outstretched arm.
The old man tried to explain, which was a thing he was famous for doing. He was a superannuated school-master of the nearly extinct type, the kind that knew nothing and taught as much, but a brave learned man according to some of the old folk.
Peter sat by his sister, trying to look at his ease; and he too listened intently for what school-master had to say. Peter and Mary were blossoming out, and becoming social and gregarious beings.
This was the first grand entertainment they had ever attended. Tickets had been given them, or they would certainly not have been there. As Peter had failed in his efforts to sell the tickets they had decided to use them, although dressing for the event was something of an ordeal. Mary had a black hat and a silk dress, both of early Victorian construction, and beneath, her huge nailed boots innocent of blacking. Peter wore a tie under his chin, and a wondrous collar some three inches lower down. The rest of his costume was also early nineteenth century in make, but effectual. He was very much excited by the music, but dreadfully afraid of showing it.
"That there box," said Master, with an air of diving deep in the well of wisdom "he'm full o' wires and hammers."
"My dear life!" gasped Mary. "Full o' wires and hammers! Du'ye hear, Peter?"
Her brother replied in the affirmative, although in a manner which suggested that the information was superfluous.
"Volks hit them bones, and the bones dra' on the hammers, and the hammers hit the wires," proceeded Master.
"Bain't that artful now?" cried Mary.
"Sure 'nuff," agreed Peter, unable to restrain his admiration.