cried myself to sleep, so I did. Now I know you love me I'll do anythin'
you wish, anythin'. I'll learn to play the pianner; you see if I don't."

"Perhaps," he replied harshly, the old anger growing bitter in him at
the mention of the "pianner"--"perhaps it would be better if you gave up
the idea of the piano; that _costs_ too much," he added
significantly, "far too much. If you'd read good books and try to live
in the thought of the time, it would be better. Wisdom is to be won
cheaply and by all, but success in an art depends upon innate
qualities."

"I see," she exclaimed, flaming up, "you think I can't learn to play
like your sister, and I'm very ignorant, and had better read and get to
know all other people have said, and you call that wisdom. I don't.
Memory ain't sense, I guess; and to talk like you ain't everythin'."

The attack pricked his vanity. He controlled himself, however, and took
up the argument: "Memory is not sense, perhaps; but still one ought to
know the best that has been said and done in the world. It is easier to
climb the ladder when others have shown us the rungs. And surely to talk
correctly is better than to talk incorrectly."

"It don't matter much, I reckon, so long as one gets your meanin', and
as for the ladder, a monkey could do that."

The irrelevant retort puzzled him, and her tone increased his annoyance.
But why, he asked himself, should he trouble to lift her to a higher
level of thought? He relapsed into silence.

With wounded heart the girl waited; she was hurt, afraid he did not care