During all those nine years since Penelope had come to her, frequent dimes and quarters, with an occasional half-dollar, had found their way into an old stone jar on the top shelf in the pantry. It had been a dreary and pinching economy that had made possible this horde of silver, and its effects had been only too visible in Hester's turned and mended garments, to say nothing of her wasted figure and colorless cheeks. Penelope was nine now, and Hester deemed it a fitting time to begin the spending of her treasured wealth. First, the instrument: it must be a rented one, of course. Hester went about the labor of procuring it in a state of exalted bliss that was in a measure compensation for her long years of sacrifice. Her task did not prove to be a hard one. The widow Butler, about to go South for the winter, was more than glad to leave her piano in Hester's tender care, and the dollar a month rent which Hester at first insisted upon paying was finally cut in half, much to the widow Butler's satisfaction and Hester's grateful delight. This much accomplished, Hester turned her steps toward the white cottage wherein lived Margaret Gale, the music teacher. Miss Gale, careful, conscientious, but of limited experience, placed her services at the disposal of all who could pay the price--thirty-five cents an hour; and she graciously accepted the name of her new pupil, entering "Penelope Martin" on her books for Saturday mornings at ten o'clock. Then Hester went home to tell her young daughter of the bliss in store for her. Strange to say, she had cherished the secret of the old stone jar all these years, and had never told Penelope of her high destiny. She pictured now the child's joy, unconsciously putting her own nine-year-old music-hungry self in Penelope's place. "Penelope," she called gently. There was a scurrying of light feet down the uncarpeted back stairs, and Penelope, breathless, rosy, and smiling, appeared in the doorway. "Yes, mother." "Come with me, child," said Hester, her voice sternly solemn in her effort to keep from shouting her glad tidings before the time. The woman led the way through the kitchen and dining-room and threw open the parlor door, motioning her daughter into the somber room. The rose-color faded from Penelope's cheeks. "Why, mother! what--what is it? Have I been--naughty?" she faltered. Mrs. Martin's tense muscles relaxed and she laughed hysterically. "No, dearie, no! I--I have something to tell you," she answered, drawing the child to her and smoothing back the disordered hair. "What would you rather have--more than anything else in the world?" she asked; then, unable to keep her secret longer, she burst out, "I've got it, Penelope!--oh, I've got it!" The little girl broke from the restraining arms and danced wildly around the room. "Mother! Really? As big as me? And will it talk--say 'papa' and 'mamma,' you know?" "What!"