seem to be a wild little
bird."

"I don't care what a person of that description says," replied his
companion.

"What on earth made you contradict the major at dinner last night?" he
asked. "I was not at the table, but some one told me of the incident;
and I felt very sorry about it. What could you know of Miss Thyra
Flowerdew?"

"Well, considering that she is in my profession, of course I know
something about her," said the little girl.

"Confound it all!" he said, rather rudely. "Surely there is some
difference between the bellows-blower and the organist."

"Absolutely none," she answered; "merely a variation of the original
theme!"

As she spoke she knocked at the door of the chalet, and asked the old
dame to give them some milk. They sat in the _Stube_, and the little
girl looked about, and admired the spinning-wheel and the quaint chairs
and the queer old jugs and the pictures on the walls.

"Ah, but you shall see the other room," the old peasant woman said; and
she led them into a small apartment which was evidently intended for a
study. It bore evidences of unusual taste and care, and one could see
that some loving hand had been trying to make it a real sanctum of
refinement. There was even a small piano. A carved book-rack was
fastened to the wall.

The old dame did not speak at first; she gave her guests time to recover
from the astonishment which she felt they must be experiencing; then she
pointed proudly to the piano.

"I bought that for my daughters," she said, with a strange mixture of
sadness and triumph. "I wanted to keep them at home with me, and I saved
and saved, and got enough money to buy the piano. They had always wanted
to have one, and I thought they would then stay with me. They liked
music and books, and I knew they would be glad to have a room of their
own where they might read and play and study; and so I gave them this
corner."

"Well, mother," asked the little girl, "and where are they this
afternoon?"

"Ah," she answered sadly, "they did not care to stay; but it was natural
enough, and I was foolish to grieve. Besides, they come to see me."

"And then they play to you?" asked the little girl, gently.

"They say the piano is out of tune," the old dame said. "I don't know.
Perhaps you can tell."

The little girl sat down to the piano, and struck a few chords.

"Yes," she said; "it is badly out of tune. Give me the tuning-hammer. I
am sorry," she added, smiling at Oswald