THE COUNTRY BOY
43
taking music lessons of “Aunty” McMillan. She wasn’t my aunt—no relation—but she was
very stout and chunky, and wore curls with a high polish on them, and most always you call that kind “Aunty.” She had gotten so stout she couldn’t play the difficult pieces any more, those you reach one hand across the other to play. She just taught and told how she used to play. We paid her in fresh milk for the lessons she gave me, so that if I failed as a Paderewski, Father wouldn’t be out ready money.
