Miss Polly shook her head.
“Not yet, dear,” she said; “some day, perhaps, but not just yet.”
For a moment nobody spoke, and then Maud’s voice broke the silence. “Won’t you please sing ‘Darby and Joan’?” she inquired in a rather sleepy little voice. Maud was only seven, and she had not found Miss Polly’s reminiscences quite so absorbing as her elder sisters had done.
“To be sure I will,” said Miss Polly, and in a moment she had pushed the wheel-chair across the room to the piano.
Then followed a very pleasant half-hour. Miss Polly sang all their favorite ballads, greatly to everybody’s enjoyment, especially Maud’s. The little girl quite forgot that she was sleepy, and stood by the piano, drinking in every note, and looking so happy that Miss Polly regarded her with growing interest.
“You love music, don’t you, dear?” she asked, kindly, at the close of “Twickenham Ferry.”
“Oh, yes,” said Maud, eagerly; “I love it when I’m on the other side of the wall, but I love it even better when I’m on this side.”
Everybody laughed, and then Daisy looked at the clock, and rose reluctantly.
“I’m dreadfully sorry,” she said, “but I’m afraid we ought to go. It’s nearly half-past eight, and Grandma always sends us to bed at eight.”
Miss Polly looked sorry, but made no objections.