"Now I do believe, father, that you've got Polly a piano and a little
room to play in," cried Jasper, joyfully, and pouncing on the key.

"You go along and do as I tell you," said Mr. King, mightily pleased at
the success of his little plan. "And don't you tell Polly Pepper one
word until she has taken her music down in the little room," as Jasper
bounded off on the wings of the wind.

And in that very hotel was the big fat man with the dreadful black
beard, resting after a long season of hard work.

But Polly and Jasper wouldn't have cared had they known it, as long as
they had their own delightful little music room to themselves--as they
played over and over all the dear old pieces, and Polly revelled in
everything that she was so afraid she had forgotten.

"I really haven't lost it, Jasper!" she would exclaim radiantly, after
finishing a concerto, and dropping her hands idly on the keys. "And I
was _so_ afraid I'd forgotten it entirely. Just think, I haven't
played that for three months, Jasper King."

"Well, you haven't forgotten a bit of it," declared Jasper, just as
glad as she was. "You didn't make any mistakes, hardly, Polly."

"Oh, yes, I made some," said Polly, honestly, whirling around on the
piano stool to look at him.

"Oh, well, only little bits of ones," said Jasper; "those don't
signify. I wish father could have heard that concerto. What a pity he