“‘It’s sure joyful,’ says I. ‘I always admired the agreeable uproar of a piano. It’ll be lots of company for you. That’s mighty good of Uncle Cal to do that.’
“‘I’m all undecided,’ says Marilla, ‘between a piano and a organ. A parlour organ is nice.’
“‘Either of ’em,’ says I, ‘is first-class for mitigating the lack of noise around a sheep-ranch. For my part,’ I says, ‘I shouldn’t like anything better than to ride home of an evening and listen to a few waltzes and jigs, with somebody about your size sitting on the piano-stool and rounding up the notes.’
“‘Oh, hush about that,’ says Marilla, ‘and go on in the house. Dad hasn’t rode out to-day. He’s not feeling well.’
“Old Cal was inside, lying on a cot. He had a pretty bad cold and cough. I stayed to supper.
“‘Going to get Marilla a piano, I hear,’ says I to him.
“‘Why, yes, something of the kind, Rush,’ says he. ‘She’s been hankering for music for a long spell; and I allow to fix her up with something in that line right away. The sheep sheared six pounds all round this fall; and I’m going to get Marilla an instrument if it takes the price of the whole clip to do it.’
“‘Star wayno,’ says I. ‘The little girl deserves it.’
“‘I’m going to San Antone on the last load of
