In order to reach the farm it was necessary not only to take a journey on a train, but also to drive three miles over a hilly road. The little station at which I changed from the train to an open two-seated carriage in waiting for me was the usual rural village, with its one main street, its commingled post-office and dry-goods and grocery store, and its small white meeting-house. The farm, as we approached it, called to mind the pictures of old New England farms with which all of us are familiar. The house itself was over a hundred years old, I afterward learned; and had for that length of time "been in the family" of the woman with whom I had corresponded. She was on the broad doorstone smiling a welcome when, after an hour's drive, the carriage at last came to a stop. Beside her was her niece, the girl whom I had been so impatient to meet. She was neither shy nor awkward. "Are you tired?" she inquired. "What should you like to do? Go to your room or rest downstairs until supper-time? Supper will be ready in about twenty minutes." "I'd like to see the music-room," I found myself saying. "Oh," exclaimed the girl, her face brightening, "are you musical? How nice!" As she spoke she led the way into the music-room. It was indeed a back sitting-room. Its windows opened upon the barnyard; glancing out, I saw eight or ten cows, just home from pasture, pushing their ways to the drinking-trough. I looked around the little room. On the walls were framed photographs of great composers, on the mantelshelf was a metronome, on the centre-table were two collections of classic piano pieces, and in a corner was,--not a melodeon,--but a piano. The maker's name was on it--a name famous in two continents. "Your aunt told me you were musical," I said to the girl. "I see that the piano is your instrument." "Yes," she assented. "But I don't play very well. I haven't had many lessons. Only one year with a really good teacher." "Who was your teacher?" I asked idly. I fully expected her to say, "Some one in the village through which you came." "Perhaps you know my teacher," she replied; and she mentioned the name of one of the best pianists and piano teachers in New England. "Most of the time I've studied by myself," she went on; "but one year auntie had me go to town and have good lessons." At supper this girl waited on the table, and after supper she washed the dishes and made various preparations for the next morning's breakfast. Then she joined her aunt and the boarders, of whom there were nine, on the veranda. "I should so like to hear you play something on the piano," I said to her. She at once arose, and, followed by me, went into the music-room, which was just off the veranda. "I only play easy things," she said, as she seated herself at the piano.