“I never did until in recent years. The pastor we had a few years back, in ’65, I think it was, told me that there was much in him that would repay me and I have found it so. I sometimes think that we of the last century were narrow. It came about from our isolation. The easier modes of getting about have made us better acquainted with our world neighbours.” I signalled to Ethel and we again rose. “Do you feel that you must go?” said Mrs. Hartlett. “I thank you for coming and I am sorry that I cannot offer you something in the way of refreshment but my granddaughter has gone to town and I find that it does not do for me to try to handle cups and saucers and glasses for my old wrists are tired of service and they play me strange tricks.” We shook hands with the old lady and as we came away she said: “When you can find nothing better worth doing come and see me.” “Well, she is the real thing,” said I as we got out of hearing. “Ninety-nine years young and growing younger every year. Think of her hobnobbing with a play actor. I wonder who he was.” “Why, but aren’t actors all right?” asked Ethel. “Yes, they are if they are, but you don’t know what it meant for her, brought up as she had been, to acknowledge that an actor might be a good man. It showed great independence of mind.” “What poise she had,” said Ethel. “She could stand before kings.” “And the kings might well feel honoured.” We walked slowly back as Ethel was trying to see how many kinds of wild flowers she could pick. Mrs. Dana’s book had had an effect upon her she had not anticipated and I was afraid that she was going to become a botanist and talk about pistils and stamens, and things. I believe she had picked twenty-five different “weeds,” as the farmers thereabouts called them, when she stopped and stood erect and listened. “Where’s that piano?” “Is it a piano,” said I, not willing to believe the evidence of my ears. We were about ten rods from our house and there is not another house nearer than a quarter of a mile and no piano within a half mile. “It certainly is a piano and in our house,” said she. What we had heard were preliminary chords and now to a bang-bang accompaniment we heard the pleasing lyric, “Hannah, Won’t You Open That Door,” and recognized the voice as that of James. “First a crimson rambler and now a piano,” said I. “I suppose he planted a few keys and the piano sprang up quickly.” “Well, what does it mean?” “It means,” said I, “that, however it may have happened, we have a piano in the house and Cherry can play when she comes.”