Now the child stood in speechless despair, looking at her lovely instrument.
"Why, Daisy—why, Henrietta—what has happened?" she asked, and there was a choking sob in her voice. "Has one of the big farm sheep-dogs got in and walked about on the piano? Oh, it is more than that, for someone has been trying to break the lock! Oh, my darling piano—my soul of music——"
"Don't be affected, little brat!" said Daisy, who could flare up just like a match. Whatever else she would have said to the child was interrupted. Whether she would have accepted the theory of the sheep-dog and pretended that a burglar had tried to break the piano open can never be explained, for at that instant the Rector and Dominic entered the room.
Dominic had the steely blue eyes of his father—blue, with just a touch of grey in them—eyes which suddenly turned black at any emotion.
"Have you told Maureen the truth?" asked Mr. O'Brien.
"We—we were going to," said Daisy, "but she flew out with that horrid temper of hers, raving and roaring."
"That is not the way with Maureen. Now tell her the truth before me. Dominic, go and stand by your cousin."
Thus forced, the girls were obliged to say what had occurred. They described their rage when they found the piano locked, and how they had determined to dance a Scotch reel on the top. They confessed that their boots were very muddy, for they had been experimenting on the edge of a boggy piece of ground that morning.
"How," said the Rector, when the ignominious tale had come to an end, "what do you wish to do, Maureen?"