Well, no sooner had I seen my husband fairly out of the house, than I rang the bell for Mr. Dick Farden, and when he came into the parlour, I asked him if he thought he could manage to move that piano of mine up into the drawing-room. So, after measuring the width of it, and then going and looking at our first landing, he said, “he was afeard there would be no getting the thing up the stairs anyhow, for there was no room to turn the corner with it;” and, on going up and looking for myself, sure enough the man was right; though as I told him, what on earth could make the people go building houses in that stupid way, was beyond a person of my limited understanding to comprehend. Dick Farden said that there were only two ways of getting over it, one was to take out my beautiful painted glass window, (which of course I wasn’t going to listen to--though I can’t help wishing now, from the very bottom of my heart, that I had); and the other to “hoist it up” outside the back of the house, and so get it in at the French window in the drawing-room, which, he said, he and a “pal” of his, as he called him, could do very easily for a pot of beer. I asked him whether he was sure that it would be perfectly safe; but he would have it that there was not the least danger, so long as the ropes were good. So I showed him the clothes lines, but my gentleman wanted to persuade me that it would be better to have them just a trifle thicker--though of course I knew what that all meant, and wasn’t going to be foolish enough to give him the money to go buying new ropes with, indeed, and making a pretty penny out of them, I’d be bound. So I quietly told him that as those very ropes had been strong enough to bear the weight of “La petite Saqui,” (and she was no feather,) jumping and frisking about on them, I thought they might manage to lift my Broadwood up to the drawing-room window--though, of course, like master like man, he must go saying, as Mr. Edward did, that I mus’n’t blame him if anything happened on account of the ropes,--and really, from their all talking so about something happening, I positively began to fancy that something _was_ going to happen, (and so it _was_, too, with a vengeance,) and what I should do then goodness gracious only knows. Off scampered Mr. Dick Farden for his friend, and I gave him permission to bring the beer in with him, for of course he couldn’t do a thing without tasting his beer first. I declare I never knew such a pig for beer as the man was in all my life; he couldn’t do anything beyond his everyday work without looking for something to drink; in fact, if I asked him to do ever such a trifle, he was always saying, in a nasty begging tone, “You haven’t got such a thing as a pint of beer about you, have you, ma’am?”