One day a couple of weeks after my father had been to see us, a wagon
drove up to our cottage loaded with a big box. I was about to tell the
men on the wagon that they had made a mistake, when my mother, acting
darkly wise, told them to bring their load in; she had them unpack the
box, and quickly there was evolved from the boards, paper, and other
packing material a beautiful, brand-new, upright piano. Then she
informed me that it was a present to me from my father. I at once sat
down and ran my fingers over the keys; the full, mellow tone of the
instrument was ravishing. I thought, almost remorsefully, of how I
had left my father; but, even so, there momentarily crossed my mind
a feeling of disappointment that the piano was not a grand. The new
instrument greatly increased the pleasure of my hours of study and
practice at home.

Shortly after this I was made a member of the boys' choir, it being
found that I possessed a clear, strong soprano voice. I enjoyed the
singing very much. About a year later I began the study of the pipe
organ and the theory of music; and before I finished the grammar
school, I had written out several simple preludes for organ which won
the admiration of my teacher, and which he did me the honor to play at
services.

The older I grew, the more thought I gave to the question of my
mother's and my position, and what was our exact relation to the world
in general. My idea of the whole matter was rather hazy. My study of
United States history had been confined to those periods which were
designated in my book as "Discovery," "Colonial," "Revolutionary," and
"Constitutional." I now began to study about the Civil War, but the
story was told in such a condensed and skipping style that I gained
from it very little real information. It is a marvel how children ever