Detective and mystery stories; Mackinac Island (Mich. : Island) -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
Among the possessions which Miss Lois had inherited from her aunt was a
small piano. The elder Miss Hinsdale, sent into the world with an almost
Italian love of music, found herself unable to repress it even in cold
New England; turning it, therefore, into the channel of the few stunted
psalms and hymns and spiritual songs of the day, she indulged it in a
cramped fashion, like a full-flowing stream shut off and made to turn a
mill. When the missionary spirit seized her in its fiery whirlwind, she
bargained with it mentally that her piano should be included; she
represented to the doubting elder that it would be an instrument of
great power among the savages, and that even David himself accompanied
the psalms with a well-stringed harp. The elder still doubted; he liked
a tuning-fork; and besides, the money which Miss Priscilla would pay for
the transportation of "the instrument" was greatly needed for boots for
the young men. But as Miss Priscilla was a free agent, and quite
determined, he finally decided, like many another leader, to allow what
he could not prevent, and the piano came. It was a small, old-fashioned
instrument, which had been kept in tune by Dr. Douglas, and through long
years the inner life of Miss Lois, her hopes, aspirations, and
disappointments, had found expression through its keys. It was a curious
sight to see the old maid sitting at her piano alone on a stormy
evening, the doors all closed, the shutters locked, no one stirring in
the church-house save herself. Her playing was old-fashioned, her hands
stiff; she could not improvise, and the range of the music she knew was
small and narrow, yet unconsciously it served to her all the purposes of
emotional expression. When she was sad, she played "China"; when she was
hopeful, "Coronation." She made the bass heavy in dejection, and played
the air in octaves when cheerful. She played only when she was entirely
alone. The old piano was the only confidant of the hidden remains of
youthful feeling buried in her heart.
[Illustration: LOIS HINSDALE.]
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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