ary at sight of it was more than just surprise.
Its dismantled condition brought to her a half-scared but wholly happy
reassurance that Anthony March was really here.

Her journey to Hickory Hill had been, so she had told herself at
intervals during the day, merely a flight from her father and Paula.
There was no real reason for thinking that she would find March at the
end of it. Week-end visits usually ended Monday morning, and it was
probable that he would have gone hours before she arrived. She was
conscious now of having commanded herself not to be silly when she was
fretting over the late start from Ravinia and Paula's errand in town. It
_would_ be nice to see him again! He was probably out in the hay field
with the others.

She gave her aunt a rather absent-minded greeting and a highly condensed
summary of her news. Her father was well and was stopping on with Paula
for a day or two.

"He's taken over my job," she concluded mischievously, "maid, chauffeur
and chaperon. Paula doesn't mind now that she's made such an enormous hit
and she doesn't sing again until Thursday. Pete will take you in the big
car to Durham."

"Well, that's Heaven's mercy," exclaimed Miss Wollaston. "I don't like to
drive with Sylvia in any car and I don't like riding in a Ford no matter
who drives. But Sylvia driving a Ford--her own car's broken down
somehow--is simply frightful."

"She's waiting for me now," said Mary, "to take me out to the hay field.
I must run before she grows any more impatient."

And run was precisely what she did, down the slope to where Sylvia
awaited her, a lighter-hearted creature altogether than she had supposed
this morning that it was possible for her to be.

She got an explanation of the piano from Sylvia. She had gone with Rush
and Mr. March to an auction sale late Saturday afternoon at a farm three
or four miles away. Just for a lark. They hadn't meant seriously to buy
anything. But this old piano, Mr. March having sworn that he would make
it play despite the fact that half the keys wouldn't go down at all and
the rest when they did made only the most awful noises, they had bought
for eleven dollars, and had fetched home in the truck on Sunday.

"I think he's terribly nice," Sylvia confided. "You know him, don't you?
He's quite old, of course.--Well, over thirty he says; but he's
awfully--don't you know--well preserved. There are a whole lot of things
he can do."

Mary laughed. "That is remarkabl