Her laugh died away. To his amazement she began to frown.
"I haven't played—ten notes—since papa died. He liked it so."
She, turned her back to him, and began to look at the torn music at the top of the piano.
"But you will play—you'll play to me again"—he said beseechingly.—"Why, it would be a sin if you didn't play! Wouldn't I play if I could play like you! I never had more than a lesson, now and again, from old Castle. I used to steal mother's eggs to pay him—I can play any thing I hear—and I've made a song—old Castle's writing it down—he says he'll teach me to do it some day. But of course I'm no good for playing—I never shall be any good. Look at those fingers—they're like bits of stick—beastly things!"
He thrust them out indignantly for her inspection. Laura looked at them with a professional air.
"I don't call it a bad hand. I expect you've no patience."
"Haven't I! I tell you I'd play all day, if it'ld do any good—but it won't."
"And how about the poor farm?" said Laura, with a lifted brow.
"Oh! the farm—the farm—dang the farm!"—said Mason violently, slapping his knee.
Suddenly there was a sound of voices outside, a clattering on the stones of the farmyard.