Whether Philip were too wise to wish it, he was too wise to give the rein to his wishes. He stayed in New York all winter, contenting himself with sending to Shampuashuh every imaginable thing that could make Mrs. Barclay's life there pleasant, or help her to make it useful to her two young friends. A fine Chickering piano arrived between Christmas and New Year's day, and was set up in the space left for it between the bookshelves. Books continued to flow in; books of all sorts—science and art, history and biography, poetry and general literature. And Lois would have developed into a bookworm, had not the piano exercised an almost equal charm upon her. Listening to Mrs. Barclay's music at first was an absorbing pleasure; then Mrs. Barclay asked casually one day "Shall I teach you?"
"O, you could not!" was Lois's answer, given with a breath and a flush of excitement.
"Let us try," said Mrs. Barclay, smiling. "You might learn at least enough to accompany yourself. I have never heard your voice. Have you a voice?"
"I do not know what you would call a voice," said Lois, smiling.
"But you sing?"
"Hymns. Nothing else."
"Have you a hymn-book? with music, I mean?"
Lois brought one. Mrs. Barclay played the accompaniment of a familiar hymn, and Lois sang.
"My dear," exclaimed the former when she had done, "that is delicious!"
"Is it?"