Kitty's words of comfort were as kind as those of her aunt, but Ned felt very anxious to get away from the scene of his discomfiture, and was glad to find himself at last on the road home, where he arrived in due season, finding the family at tea. It was not until he was alone with his father and mother that he unburdened himself.
"Father," he began, with some effort, "will you allow me to send a person at your expense to tune Miss Pamela's piano?"
"At my expense? Well, I should want first to know why you ask it."
"The fact of it is, sir, I undertook to tune it myself, and—well, I'm afraid I made a bad business of it."
"You did what?" asked his mother, turning on him a look of such comical amazement that he could not help laughing, although he turned redder than before.
"I tuned her piano."
"Where did you ever learn to tune a piano? I always thought you had no ear for music."
"I didn't do it with my ears, I did it with my hands, and it was hard enough work, too. They are all blistered, and my wrists ache, and I am as lame all over as if I had been sawing wood all day."
"How did you do it? and, in the name of all that is ridiculous, why?" gasped his mother.
"Well, I did it just as I've seen Seaflatt do yours. I screwed every wire up as tight as I could, and kept on fiddling with the other hand on the key to see if it kept on sounding, just exactly as he always does."