Homestead on the Hillside

by Mary Jane Holmes

Carrie was in the parlor, and attracted by the sound of music, I drew near the door, when Aunt Eunice kindly bade me enter. I did so, and was presented to Monsieur Penoyer. At first I was shy of him, for I remembered that Sally had said, "he don't know nothin'," and this in my estimation was the worst crime of which he could be guilty. Gradually my timidity gave way, and when, at Carrie's request, he played and sang for me, I was perfectly delighted, although I understood not a word he said.

When he finished Carrie told him I was a little poet, and then repeated some foolish lines I had once written about her eyes. It was a very handsome set of teeth which he showed, as he said, "Magnifique! Tree bien! She be another grand Dr. Wattts!"

I knew not who Dr. Watts was, but on one point my mind was made up—Monsieur Penoyer knew a great deal! Ere I left Carrie commissioned me to invite my sisters to her party on the morrow, and as I was leaving the room Mr. Penoyer said, "Ma chère, Carrie, why vous no invite a petite girl!"

Accordingly I was invited, with no earthly prospect, however, of mother's letting me go. And she didn't either; so next day, after Juliet and Anna were gone, I went out behind the smokehouse and cried until I got sleepy, and a headache too; then, wishing to make mother think I had run away, I crept carefully up-stairs to Bill's room, where I slept until Sally's sharp eyes ferreted me out, saying, "they were all scared to death about me, and had looked for me high and low," up in the garret and down in the well, I supposed. Concluding they were plagued enough, I condescended to go down-stairs, and have my head bathed in camphor and my feet parboiled in hot water; then I went to bed and dreamed of white teeth, curling mustaches and "Parlez vous Français."

Of what occurred at the party I will tell you as was told to me. All the élite of Rice Corner were there, of course, and as each new arrival entered the parlor, M. Penoyer eyed them coolly through an opera glass. Sister Anna returned his inspection with the worst face she could well make up, for which I half-blamed her and half didn't, as I felt sure I should have done the same under like circumstances.

When all the invited guests had arrived except myself (alas, no one asked why I tarried), there ensued an awkward silence, broken only by the parrot-like chatter of M. Penoyer, who seemed determined to talk nothing but French, although Carrie understood him but little better than did the rest. At last he was posted up to the piano.

"Mon Dieu, it be von horrid tone," said he; then off he dashed into a galloping waltz, keeping time with his head, mouth, and eyes, which threatened to leave their sockets and pounce upon the instrument. Rattlety-bang went the piano—like lightning went monsieur's fingers, first here, then there, right or wrong, hit or miss, and oftener miss than hit—now alighting among the keys promiscuously, then with a tremendous thump making all bound again—and finishing up with a flourish, which snapped two strings and made all the rest groan in sympathy, as did the astonished listeners. For a time all was still, and then a little modest girl, Lily Gordon, her face blushing crimson, said:

"I beg your pardon, monsieur, but haven't you taught music?"

The veins in his forehead swelled, as, darting a wrathful look at poor Lily, he exclaimed, "Le Diabel! vat vous take me for? Von dem musique teacher, eh?"

Poor Lily tried to stammer her apologies, while Carrie sought to soothe the enraged Frenchman by saying, that "Miss Gordon was merely complimenting his skill in music."