"under dealings," as it is called, was a very serious matter,--to be
spoken of only under the breath, in a half whisper.

"I hear that thee has a piano in thy house," said the old Friend.

"Yes, my daughters have," was the reply.

"But it is in thy house," pursued the Friend.

"Yes; but my home is my children's home as well as mine," said Mr.
Mitchell, "and I propose that they shall not be obliged to go away from
home for their pleasures. I don't play on the piano."

It so happened that Mr. Mitchell held the property of the "monthly
meeting" in his hands at the time, and it was a very improper thing for
the accredited agent of the society to be "under dealings," as Mr.
Mitchell gently suggested.

This the Friend had not thought of, and so he said, "Well, William,
perhaps we'd better say no more about it."

When the father came home after this interview he could not keep it to
himself. If it had been the mother who was interviewed she would have
kept it a profound secret,--because she would not have liked to have her
children get any fun out of the proceedings of the old Friend. But Mr.
Mitchell told the story in his quiet way, the daughters enjoyed it, and
declared that the piano was placed upon a firm foothold by this
proceeding. The news spread abroad, and several other young Quaker girls
eagerly seized the occasion to gratify their musical longings in the
same direction. [Footnote: It is pleasant to note that this objection to