went out just before you began it."

But somebody else, on the other side of the partition between the
little music room and the big parlour, had heard, and he pulled his
black beard thoughtfully with his long fingers, then pricked up his
ears to hear more. And it was funny how, almost every day, whenever the
first notes on the piano struck up in Mr. King's little music room, the
big fat man, who was so tired with his season of hard work, never
seemed to think that he could rest as well as in that particular corner
up against that partition. And no matter what book or paper he had in
his hand, he always dropped it and fell to pulling his black beard with
his long fingers, before the music was finished.

And then, "Oh, Polly, come child, you have played long enough," from
Mother Fisher on the other side of the partition; or old Mr. King would
say, "No more practising to-day, Miss Polly;" or Phronsie would pipe
out, "Polly, Grandpapa is going to take us out on the lake; do come,
Polly." And then it was funnier yet to see how suddenly the big fat man
with the dreadful black beard seemed to find that particular corner by
that partition a very tiresome place. And as the piano clicked down its
cover, he would yawn, and get up and say something in very rapid German
to himself, and off he would go, forgetting all about his book or
newspaper, which, very likely, would tumble to the floor, and flap away
by itself till somebody came and picked it up and set it on the sofa.

One morning old Mr. King, hurrying along with his batch of English mail
to enjoy opening it in the little music room where Jasper and Polly
were playing a duet, ran up suddenly against a fat heavy body coming
around an opposite angle.