name of her new pupil,
entering "Penelope Martin" on her books for Saturday mornings at ten
o'clock. Then Hester went home to tell her young daughter of the bliss
in store for her.

Strange to say, she had cherished the secret of the old stone jar all
these years, and had never told Penelope of her high destiny. She
pictured now the child's joy, unconsciously putting her own nine-year-old
music-hungry self in Penelope's place.

"Penelope," she called gently.

There was a scurrying of light feet down the uncarpeted back stairs, and
Penelope, breathless, rosy, and smiling, appeared in the doorway.

"Yes, mother."

"Come with me, child," said Hester, her voice sternly solemn in her
effort to keep from shouting her glad tidings before the time.

The woman led the way through the kitchen and dining-room and threw open
the parlor door, motioning her daughter into the somber room. The
rose-color faded from Penelope's cheeks.

"Why, mother! what--what is it? Have I been--naughty?" she faltered.

Mrs. Martin's tense muscles relaxed and she laughed hysterically.

"No, dearie, no! I--I have something to tell you," she answered, drawing
the child to her and smoothing back the disordered hair. "What would you
rather have--more than anything else in the world?" she asked; then,
unable to keep her secret longer, she burst out, "I've got it,
Penelope!--oh, I've got it!"

The little girl broke from the restraining arms and danced wildly around
the room.

"Mother! Really? As big as me? And will it talk--say 'papa' and
'mamma,' you know?"

"What!"

Something in Hester's dismayed face brought the prancing feet to a sudden
stop.

"It--it's a doll, is n't it?" the child stammered.

Hester's hands grew cold.

"A--a doll!" she gasped.

Penelope nodded--the light gone from her eyes.

For a moment the woman was silent; then she threw back her head with a
little shake and laughed forcedly.

"A doll!--why, child, it's as much nicer than a doll as--as you can
imagine. It's a piano, dear--a pi-a-no!" she repeated impressively, all
the old enthusiasm coming back at the mere mention of the magic word.

"Oh!" murmured Penelope, with some show of interest.

"And you're to learn to play on it!"

"Oh-h!" said Penelope again, but with less interest.

"To play on it! Just think, dear, how fine that will be!" The woman's
voice was growing wistful.

"Take lessons? Like Mamie, you mean?"

"Yes, dear."

"But--sh