uld ever have thought of
attempting; the only penalty being, that what any one else could have
done, she could not do at all. This did not suit some people, but it
suited Miss Joe, exactly; and as she was pleased, perhaps no one else
had a right to complain. If any one _did_ complain he or she was likely
to be at once treated to one of the lugubrious compositions before
mentioned, producing the "dumps" for a month after.

On this occasion Joe threw open the lid of the piano with such dexterity
as to tangle the cover inextricably with the lid, set up the stool with
a whirl, and dashed into the midst of a composition that might have been
conceived by a mad musician and wailed out on an instrument possessed,
like Paganini's fiddle, one night when the demons of the storm were
playing at hide-and-seek among the Hartz Mountains of Germany. It went
from the top to the bottom of the scale, in such moanings, and wailings,
and sobbings, intermingled with such fiendish dashes of exultation and
laughter, that the nerves of a strong man might have been thrown into
permanent disorder by it, while those of a sick one could not do
otherwise than suffer the most exquisite torture.

"I think that will do!" said Miss Joe to herself, pausing for an instant
and then going on again. She was right, for at the next partial pause
she heard the voice of Dick Crawford, from the back-room, yelling out
with more energy than the man himself had before thought that he
possessed:

"Sto-o-o-op!"

She did stop--ran to the sliding-doors and opened them at once, to find
Crawford sitting upon the sofa, with his hands to both ears.

"Eh? what's the matter, Dick? Does the music disturb you?" she asked, as
naturally as if she had not before been aware of the fact.

"Disturb me? It _murders_ me--you know it does, you torment!" was the
reply of Crawford.

"I am so sorry," said Joe, with the least perceptible pout on her lip.
"I suppose that I must go home, then, and play."

"No," said Crawford, who had no idea of being guilty of the ungallantry
of driving a lady out of his house, especially dear, delicious,
tormenting Joe. "No, don't go home. But if you must play, why not play
something Christian and respectable--something that a man can listen to
without gritting his teeth and stopping his ears more than half the
time?"

"Well, that _is_ complimentary!" sighed Josey. "Just when I was doing
the very best that I could! Besides, I wasn't playing for _y