“Then again, I not infrequently invite the leader of some watering-place band to drop in on us, for a week or so, on the closing of the season at the Springs. They are generally excellent musicians, and glad enough, after a summer of waltzes and polkas, to refresh themselves with a little real music. So you see that, after all, where there is a will there is a way. Provide yourself with a cage, and some one will be sure to give you a bird; build a house, and—” “The r-r-r-rats will soon come.” “I was going to say a wife—” “Oh, then, instead of r-r-r-rats, it’s br-br-br-brats!” “You see,” continued my grandfather, laughing, “I have the Hall there for a cage.” “Yes, but where is your bird, your fourth player?” “Very true, the bird is lacking just at present. The truth is, we have had poor luck of late. We have not had any quartet music for a year,—not even our quartets where the piano takes the place of one of the violins, owing to the absence of our young-lady artiste. By the way, I forgot to tell you, in speaking of our local talent, that one of our girls is an excellent pianist, and that through her we have been enabled (until the past year) to keep up our quartet evenings, in the absence of a first violin; the main trouble being that I am hardly equal to my part—that of the first violin—in these compositions,—Lucy Poythress. You know her?” asked Mr. Whacker, on observing the sudden interest in the Don’s face. “Why, Uncle Tom, Mr. Smith saved her life! Don’t you remember?” “Of course! of course! you must pardon an old man’s tricks of memory!” “Miss Poythress is a good musician?” “Oh, wonderful, we think. She was the only one of Mr. Waldteufel’s pupils who had the least fancy for classical music. She seemed to feel its meaning from the very first, and I hardly know what we should have done without her. For several years—ever since she was fourteen, in fact—she has been playing with us; in quartet when we needed her, a solo between our Haydn and Mozart when we happened to have a first violin. You should know her,—know her well, I mean. So much character, and yet so gentle! Such depth of soul! In fact, she is an incomparable girl! I must confess, I never cease to wonder how Charley, here—” “There you go again, Uncle Tom!” “This good-for-nothing fellow, Mr. Smith, has, for several years, been crossing the river, Friday afternoons, to fetch her and her mother to our quartet parties,—taking them back, and spending the night under the same roof with this noble girl,—breakfasting with her next morning,—and yet—Where would you find another sister, eh?” Charley rose, and, after walking about the room and glancing at the books in an aimless sort of way, without other reply than a smile, descended the steps and stood on the lawn with his fingers interlaced behind his back.