Peter sat by his sister, trying to look at his ease; and he too listened intently for what school-master had to say. Peter and Mary were blossoming out, and becoming social and gregarious beings. This was the first grand entertainment they had ever attended. Tickets had been given them, or they would certainly not have been there. As Peter had failed in his efforts to sell the tickets they had decided to use them, although dressing for the event was something of an ordeal. Mary had a black hat and a silk dress, both of early Victorian construction, and beneath, her huge nailed boots innocent of blacking. Peter wore a tie under his chin, and a wondrous collar some three inches lower down. The rest of his costume was also early nineteenth century in make, but effectual. He was very much excited by the music, but dreadfully afraid of showing it. "That there box," said Master, with an air of diving deep in the well of wisdom "he'm full o' wires and hammers." "My dear life!" gasped Mary. "Full o' wires and hammers! Du'ye hear, Peter?" Her brother replied in the affirmative, although in a manner which suggested that the information was superfluous. "Volks hit them bones, and the bones dra' on the hammers, and the hammers hit the wires," proceeded Master. "Bain't that artful now?" cried Mary. "Sure 'nuff," agreed Peter, unable to restrain his admiration. "Couldn't ye mak' one o' they? You'm main cruel larned wi' your hands," Mary went on. Peter admitted that was so. Given the material, he had no doubt of his ability to turn out a piano capable of producing that music which his sister described as cruel noisy. "It taketh a scholard to understand how to mak' they things," said Master, with some severity. "See all that carved wood on the front of him? You couldn't du that, and the piano wouldn't mak' no music if 'twasn't for the carved wood. 'Twould mak' a noise, you see, Peter, but not music. 'Tis the noise coming out through the carving what makes the music. Taketh a scholard to du that." "Look at she!" cried Mary violently, as another lady rose to warble. This songster had a good bust, and desired to convince her audience of the fact. "Her ha' grown out of her clothes sure 'nuff. Her can't hardly cover her paps." "Shet thee noise, woman," muttered Peter. "Her be in full evening dress," explained Master. Mary subsided in deep reflection. She knew perfectly well what "full" meant. There were plenty of full days upon Tavy Cleave. It meant a heavy wet mist which filled everything so that nothing was visible. For Mary every word had only one meaning. She could not understand how the word "full" could bear two exactly opposite meanings.