Something in Hester's dismayed face brought the prancing feet to a sudden stop. "It--it's a doll, is n't it?" the child stammered. Hester's hands grew cold. "A--a doll!" she gasped. Penelope nodded--the light gone from her eyes. For a moment the woman was silent; then she threw back her head with a little shake and laughed forcedly. "A doll!--why, child, it's as much nicer than a doll as--as you can imagine. It's a piano, dear--a pi-a-no!" she repeated impressively, all the old enthusiasm coming back at the mere mention of the magic word. "Oh!" murmured Penelope, with some show of interest. "And you're to learn to play on it!" "Oh-h!" said Penelope again, but with less interest. "To play on it! Just think, dear, how fine that will be!" The woman's voice was growing wistful. "Take lessons? Like Mamie, you mean?" "Yes, dear." "But--she has to practice and--" "Of course," interrupted Hester eagerly. "That's the best part of it--the practice." "Mamie don't think so," observed Penelope dubiously. "Then Mamie can't know," rejoined Hester with decision, bravely combating the chill that was creeping over her. "Come, dear, help mother to clear a space, so we may be ready when the piano comes," she finished, crossing the room and moving a chair to one side. But when the piano finally arrived, Penelope was as enthusiastic as even her mother could wish her to be, and danced about it with proud joy. It was after the child had left the house, however, that Hester came with reverent step into the darkened room and feasted her eyes to her heart's content on the reality of her dreams. Half fearfully she extended her hand and softly pressed the tip of her fourth finger to one of the ivory keys; then with her thumb she touched another a little below. The resulting dissonance gave her a vague unrest, and she gently slipped her thumb along until the harmony of a major sixth filled her eyes with quick tears. "Oh, if I only could!" she whispered, and pressed the chord again, rapturously listening to the vibrations as they died away in the quiet room. Then she tiptoed out and closed the door behind her. During the entire hour of that first Saturday morning lesson Mrs. Martin hovered near the parlor door, her hands and feet refusing to perform their accustomed duties. The low murmur of the teacher's voice and an occasional series of notes were to Hester the mysterious rites before a sacred shrine, and she listened in reverent awe. When Miss Gale had left the house, Mrs. Martin hurried to Penelope's side. "How did it go? What did she say? Play me what she taught you," she urged excitedly. Penelope tossed a consequential head and gave her mother a scornful glance. "Pooh! mother, the first lesson ain't much. I've got to practice." "Of course," acknowledged Hester in conciliation; "but how?--what?" "That--and that--and from there to there," said Penelope, indicating with a pink forefinger certain portions of the page before her.