Both the visitors looked rather embarrassed, and Peter’s freckled face grew very red indeed, but Gretel, with native politeness, came forward and held out her hand.
“I’m so glad you could both come,” she said in her sweet, cordial little voice; “it was very good of you. You can’t think how anxious I am to hear you play and sing. I haven’t heard any music in such a long time.”
“I’m sure we were very pleased to accept your invitation,” returned Lillie, in her most grown-up manner, and she shook Gretel’s hand very much as though it had been a pump-handle. Peter said nothing, but stuck both hands into his pockets, and grew redder than ever.
“Dora says you sing beautifully,” Gretel went on, “and your brother plays. My father was a great pianist; perhaps you have heard of him; his name was Hermann Schiller.”
“N—no, I don’t think so,” Lillie admitted, reluctantly. “I’ve heard of Dan W. Quinn and George J. Gaskin, but they were both singers. Did your father play for the phonograph company?”
“Oh, no, Father didn’t care much for phonographs; he played in concerts and wrote beautiful music. Perhaps your brother plays some of his things.”
Lillie looked very much surprised.
“I thought everybody loved phonographs,” she said; “we have one that Father bought second-hand, and we keep it going all the time we’re in the house. We’ve got some dandy records. Peter makes up most of his own pieces; you see, he’s never had a lesson in his life. Where’s your piano?”
“In the parlor,” said Gretel. “Take off your things, and we’ll go right in. I’m so anxious to have the music begin.”
She turned to Peter with a friendly smile, but that young man was absorbed in removing his rubbers, and did not respond. Lillie, however, appeared to be quite equal to the occasion, for she remarked politely: