Little comfort had the young couple that evening in their finely
furnished house. Brainard was silent and thoughtful, while Anna felt
the pressure of a heavy weight upon her feelings.

How different was it in the smaller and more plainly attired
dwelling of Tyler! There was comfort, and there were peace and
contentment, her smiling handmaids.

On the next morning, Brainard found it impossible to conceal from
his wife the great anxiety he felt. She said very little to him, for
his trouble was of a kind for which she could suggest no remedy.
After he parted with her at the door, she returned and sat down in
one of the parlours to think. The piano was before her, and back to
that her thoughts at length came. It was not only a beautiful
instrument, but one of great excellence. Often had it been admired
by her friends, and particularly by a lady who had several times
expressed a wish to own one exactly like it in every respect.

"I wish you would let me have that piano," the lady had said to her
not a week before; and said it as much in earnest as in jest.

"I wonder if she really would buy it?" mused Mrs. Brainard. "I don't
want so fine an instrument. My old piano is a very good one, and is
useless at father's. Oh! if I could only get George the four hundred
dollars he wants so badly!"

And she struck her hands together as her thoughts grew earnest on
the subject. For more than an hour the mind of Mrs. Brainard gave
itself up to this one idea. Then she dressed herself and went out.