heard a mysterious sound, and feared someone might be stealing the
ponderous thing, which it took four men to lift. With the utmost
alacrity he helped in the unpacking, nearly bursting a blood-vessel as
he tugged at the heaviest end, and then running to the village with all
his speed, to borrow Mrs. Crandall's piano key, which, fortunately,
fitted Ethelyn's, so that Melinda Jones was soon seated in state, and
running her fingers over the superb five-hundred dollar instrument,
Ethelyn's gift from Aunt Barbara on her nineteenth birthday.

Melinda's fingers were strained and cut with carpet thread, and pricked
with carpet tacks, and red with washing dishes, but they moved nimbly
over the keys, striking out with a will the few tunes she had learned
during her two quarters' instruction. She had acquired a great deal of
knowledge in a short time, for she was passionately fond of music, and
every spare moment had been devoted to it, so that she had mastered the
scales with innumerable exercises, besides learning several pieces, of
which Money-musk was one. This she now played with a sprightliness and
energy which brought Andy to his feet, while the cowhides moved to the
stirring music in a fashion which would have utterly confounded poor
Ethelyn could she have seen them. But Ethelyn was miles and miles away.
She was not coming for a week or more, and in that time Andy tried his
hand at Yankee Doodle, playing with one finger, and succeeding far
beyond his most sanguine expectations. Andy was delighted with the
piano, and so was Eunice, the hired girl, who left her ironing and her
dishes, standing with wiping towel or flatiron in hand, humming an
accompaniment to Andy's playing, and sometimes helping to find the
proper key to touch next.

Eunice was not an Irish girl, nor a German, nor a Scotch, but a
full-blooded American, and "just as good as her employers," with whom