As they drew near home, unaccustomed, surprising sounds greeted their astonished ears.
"Oh, what's that music?" cried the little ones, "such pretty music!"
"Why, it sounds like a piano!" exclaimed the older ones; "but where could it come from?" and they rushed tumultuously into the house, even Mildred forgetting the staid propriety of her years.
The parlor door stood open, and—yes, there it was—a beautiful piano, mother's skilful fingers bringing out its sweetest tones, father and Rupert standing enraptured close beside her, and Celestia Ann, sleeves rolled up, dish-towel in hand, eyes dancing, and mouth stretched in a broad grin, stationed at the farther end.
"Well, I never! where on airth did the critter come from?" she exclaimed just as the others came upon the scene. "I never see the like, I never did!" she went on. "I just ran down town of an arrant, and I'd come home again and in the back door and begun to wash up them dishes, when I heered this agoin', and come in to find out what under the sun was agoin' on."
But no one seemed to hear a word she said; the children were jumping and careering about the room in frantic delight, clapping their hands, pouring out questions and exclamations. "Oh, aren't you glad? aren't you glad?" "Isn't it a beauty?" "It's just too nice for anything!" "Who did send it?"
Mildred stood silently gazing at it, her eyes full of glad tears. Father and Rupert were watching her, taking no notice of the others.
"Well, dear?" her mother said, whirling about on the piano stool and looking up into her face with tender, loving eyes.
"O mother, it is too much!" she cried, the tears beginning to fall. "Uncle Dinsmore sent it, I know; and I do believe it's one of the very two I liked the best of all we saw. He bought the other for themselves and this for us."
"For you, dear; but indeed it is, he says, not his own gift, but Cousin Horace's. The books are from him—our kind, generous uncle." And she pointed to them where they lay piled high upon the table.