“Then the curtains will have to wait, Mysie,” said Henriette, cheerfully, “for we must have the music to-morrow.” Mysie threw a deprecating glance at Pauline. “There was a bargain in chintzes,” she began, feebly, “but of course, sister, if Paula doesn’t mind—” “I don’t mind, Mysie,” said Pauline. Why should she make Mysie unhappy and Henriette cross for a pair of cheap curtains? The day was beautiful, and she attended church. She was surprised, looking round at the choir, to discover young Armstrong in the seat behind her. She did not know that he attended that church. But surely there was no harm in a neighbor’s walking home with Mysie and her. How well and modestly he talked, and how gentle and deferential he was to Mysie! Mysie sighed when he parted from them, a little way from the house. “That young man is very superior to his station,” she declared, solemnly; “he must be of good though decayed family.” “His grandfather was a Vermont farmer, and ours was a Massachusetts farmer,” retorted Pauline; “I dare say if we go back far enough we shall find the Armstrongs as good as we—” “Oh, pray don’t talk that way before Etty, dear,” interrupted Mysie, hurriedly: “she thinks it so like the anarchists; and if you get into that way of speech, you _might_ slip out something before her. Poor Etty, I wish she felt as if she could go to church. I hope she had a peaceful morning.” Ah, hope unfounded! Never had Miss Henriette Beaumont passed a season more rasping to her nerves. Looking out of the window, she saw both the younger Armstrongs and their mother. The boys had been picking vegetables. “Now, boys,” called Mrs. Armstrong, gayly, “let’s come and play on the organ.” Henriette’s soul was in arms. Unfortunately she was still in the robes of rest (attempting to slumber after her tumultuous night), and dignity forbade her shouting out of the window. The two boys passed a happy morning experimenting on the different stops, and improvising melodies of their own. “Say, mummy, isn’t that kinder like a _tune_?” one or the other would exclaim. Mrs. Armstrong listened with pride. The awful combination of discords fell sweetly on her ear, which was “no ear for music.” “It’s just lovely to have an organ,” she thought. When Miss Beaumont could bear no more she attired herself and descended the stairs. Then the boys stopped. In the afternoon several friends of the Armstrongs called. They sang Moody and Sankey hymns, until Henriette was pale with misery. “I think I prefer the untutored Armstrong savages themselves, with their war-cries,” she remarked. “Perhaps they will get tired of it,” Mysie proffered for consolation. But they did not tire. They never played later than nine o’clock at night again, but until that hour the music-loving and unmusical family played and sang to their hearts’ content. And the Beaumonts saw them at the Thomas concert, Ike and his mother and Jim, applauding everything. Henriette said the sight made her ill.