er she had hung her coat in the hall
closet and counted up her parcels, that she had one too many. Then
she opened it and exclaimed:

"Why, it's a box of candy! Someone must have mislaid it. But it is
too small a matter to worry about; there are only a few pieces." So
she dumped the contents of the box into a bonbon dish that stood
upon the hall table and picking out the chocolate piece--she was
fond of chocolates--ate it daintily while she examined her purchases.

These were not many, for Bessie was only twelve years old and was
not yet trusted by her parents to expend much money at the stores.
But while she tried on the hair ribbon she suddenly felt a great
desire to play upon the piano, and the desire at last became so
overpowering that she went into the parlor and opened the
instrument.

The little girl had, with infinite pains, contrived to learn two
"pieces" which she usually executed with a jerky movement of her
right hand and a left hand that forgot to keep up and so made
dreadful discords. But under the influence of the chocolate bonbon
she sat down and ran her fingers lightly over the keys producing
such exquisite harmony that she was filled with amazement at her own
performance.

That was the prelude, however. The next moment she dashed into
Beethoven's seventh sonata and played it magnificently.

Her mother, hearing the unusual burst of melody, came downstairs to
see what musical guest had arrived; but when she discovered it was
her own little daughter who was playing so divinely she had an
attack of palpitation of the heart (to which she was subject) and
sat down upon a sofa until it should pass away.

Meanwhile Bessie played one piece after another with untiring
energy. She loved music, and now found that all she need do was to
sit at the piano and listen and watch her hands twinkle over the
keyboard.

Twilight deepened in the room and Bessie's father came home and hung
up his hat and overcoat and placed his umbrella in the rack. Then he
peeped into the parlor to see who was playing.

"Great Caesar!" he exclaimed. But the mother came to him softly with
her finger on her lips and whispered: "Don't interrupt her, John.
Our child seems to be in a trance. Did you ever hear such superb
music?"

"Why, she's an infant prodigy!" gasped the astounded father. "Beats
Blind Tom all hollow! It's--it's wonderful!"

As they stood listening the senator arrived, having been invited to
dine with them that eve