“Not much, at least not the kind Miss Heath plays. I like the music at dancing-school pretty well, but Mother’s crazy about Miss Heath’s kind. She’s always getting her to play the piano in the evenings, and Father listens, too, but he almost always goes to sleep. Miss Heath wants to play in concerts, and Mother’s going to try to get her an engagement when we go back to New York.”
“My father played in concerts,” said Gretel, eagerly. “He was a great musician, Hermann Schiller—did you ever hear him play?”
Geraldine was forced to admit that she had not, but added politely that perhaps Mother had, and just then they reached the cottage Mr. Barlow had taken for the season. Mr. and Mrs. Barlow were on their way to call on some friends, so the children went into the house alone.
“There’s Miss Heath playing now,” remarked Geraldine, as they mounted the piazza steps, and the sound of a distant piano fell upon their ears. “She always plays when she’s by herself. I don’t believe she really minded about our not letting her go to the fort.”
“It was all your fault,” declared Jerry; “I was perfectly willing to have her come along.”
Geraldine looked a little ashamed.
“Well, if we’d given in to her in one thing, it might have made trouble afterwards,” she maintained stoutly. “We said in that paper that she wasn’t to come near us except at lessons, and she agreed to it. Come up to my room, Gretel; you can take off your things there.”
But greatly to Geraldine’s surprise, her new friend had suddenly appeared to lose all interest in her society. As the front door opened, and the sound of the piano became more distinct, she had given one little start, and was now standing quite still, with clasped hands, and parted lips, while her cheeks grew pink, and her eyes began to shine in a way that seemed to the twins quite startling.
“It’s one of Father’s pieces,” she whispered rapturously—“one he wrote himself, I mean. Oh, how wonderful!” And then, as if forgetful of everything else in the world, she darted forward, and fairly flew across the hall to the parlor, followed by her two wondering companions.
A young lady was seated at the piano; a very pretty young lady, with dimples, and soft light hair, that fell in little curls over her forehead. At the entrance of the children, she paused in her playing, and turned to greet them with a smile. But before she could speak, or the twins offer any explanation, Gretel had sprung to the strange young lady’s side, and laid a trembling little hand on her arm.