The hatchet was brought and the box was opened.
“My, what a funny lookin’ thing! Looks like a small size sewing machine, and here’s a brass horn, too. I wonder if Milly sent that for a joke or what?”
Silas set the carved case of polished wood on the table, and the old couple gazed in puzzled astonishment at what they saw under it. After a silence the old man said:
“Perhaps there are some directions.” Going over to the box he found, as he had prophesied, a paper of instructions.
“It’s a—P-H-O-N-O-G-R-A-P-H, and them there things air records. Well, I know about as much as I did afore. I’ll follow out the directions and see what happens. Wish I knew what it was; ’tain’t no kind of a farm implement, that’s sartin, nor a potater parer, nor sewing machine. Well, we’ll follow these rules and see what she does.”
The faces of the old couple were full of interest, as Silas attached the spring and set the phonograph in motion. At first there was a peculiar buzzing sound, but nothing unusual happened, and the old people were beginning to look disappointed when, after the buzzing, came the sound of a voice singing. Surprise, wonder, amazement, succeeded each other on the old faces, as the first notes of “Home, Sweet Home” fell on their startled ears.
“’Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam—”
The old couple listened breathlessly.
“Silas, that’s Milly singing.”