grand houses, and had such wonderful things to eat, always pray at their
supper-tables? This was the problem which they were turning over in
their minds.

Returning to the parlor, Gracie went at once to the piano. She had spent
a good deal of Monday, settling the question of what to play, and had
chosen the most sparkling music she could find. I am anxious to have it
recorded, that, all uncultured as they were, these boys neither talked
nor laughed during the music, but appeared at least to listen. It was
Dirk Colton who sat nearest to the piano, and who listened in that
indescribable way which always flatters a musician.

"Do you like it?" Gracie asked, running off the final notes in a tinkle
of melody.

His dark face flushed a deep red.

"I dunno," he said, with an awkward laugh; "it's queer sounding. I don't
see how you make so many tinkles. Do you make all your fingers go at
once on those black and white things?"

"Not quite; but sometimes they have to dance about in a very lively
fashion. I have to keep my wits at work, I assure you."

"Is it hard to do?"

"Not very, nowadays. When I first commenced, the practising was horrid;
I hated it."

"What made you do it, then?"