“And then all of a sudden Uncle Cal flops over and sayshe’s mighty sick. He’s got a high fever， and he complainsof his lungs. He gets into bed， while me and Ben goes outto unhitch and put the horses in the pasture， and Marillaflies around to get Uncle Cal something hot to drink. Butfirst she puts both arms on that piano and hugs it witha soft kind of a smile， like you see kids doing with theirChristmas toys.
“When I came in from the pasture， Marilla was in theroom where the piano was. I could see by the strings andwoolsacks on the floor that she had had it unwrapped.
But now she was tying the wagon-sheet over it again， andthere was a kind of solemn， whitish look on her face.
“‘Ain’t wrapping up the music again， are you， Marilla？’ Iasks. ‘What’s the matter with just a couple of tunes for tosee how she goes under the saddle？’
“‘Not to-night， Rush，’ says she. ‘I don’t want to play anyto-night. Dad’s too sick. Just think， Rush， he paid threehundred dollars for it—nearly a third of what the woolclipbrought！’
“‘Well， it ain’t anyways in the neighbourhood of a thirdof what you are worth，’ I told her. ‘And I don’t think UncleCal is too sick to hear a little agitation of the piano-keysjust to christen the machine.
“‘Not to-night， Rush，’ says Marilla， in a way that she hadwhen she wanted to settle things.
“But it seems that Uncle Cal was plenty sick， after all. Hegot so bad that Ben saddled up and rode over to Birdstailfor Doc Simpson. I stayed around to see if I’d be needed foranything.
“When Uncle Cal’s pain let up on him a little he calledMarilla and says to her： ‘Did you look at your instrument，honey？ And do you like it？’
“‘It’s lovely， dad，’ says she， leaning down by his pillow； ‘Inever saw one so pretty. How dear and good it was of youto buy it for me！’
“‘I haven’t heard you play on it any yet，’ says Uncle Cal；‘and I’ve been listening. My side don’t hurt quite so badnow—won’t you play a piece， Marilla？’
“But no； she puts Uncle Cal off and soothes him downlike you’ve seen women do with a kid. It seems she’s madeup her mind not to touch that piano at present.
“When Doc Simpson comes over he tells us that UncleCal has pneumonia the worst kind； and as the old manwas past sixty and nearly on the lift anyhow， the odds wasagainst his walking on grass any more.
“On the fourth day of his sickness he calls for Marillaagain and wants to talk piano. Doc Simpson was there，and so was Ben and Mrs. Ben， trying to do all they could.
“‘I’d have made a wonderful success in anythingconnected with music，’ says Uncle Cal. ‘I got the finestinstrument for the money in San Antone. Ain’t that pianoall right in every respect， Marilla？’
“‘It’s just perfect， dad，’ says she. ‘It’s got the finest toneI ever heard. But don’t you think you could sleep a littlewhile now， dad？’
“‘No， I don’t，’ says Uncle Cal. ‘I want to hear that piano.
I don’t believe you’ve even tried it yet. I went all the wayto San Antone and picked it out for you myself. It took athird of the fall clip to buy it； but I don’t mind that if itmakes my good girl happier. Won’t you play a little bit fordad， Marilla？’
“Doc Simpson beckoned Marilla to one side andrecommended her to do what Uncle Cal wanted， so itwould get him quieted. And her uncle Ben and his wifeasked her， too.
“‘Why not hit out a tune or two with the soft pedalon？’ I asks Marilla. ‘Uncle Cal has begged you so often.
It would please him a good deal to hear you touch up thepiano he’s bought for you. Don’t you think you might？’
“But Marilla stands there with big tears rolling downfrom her eyes and says nothing. And then she runs overand slips her arm under Uncle Cal’s neck and hugs himtight.
“‘Why， last night， dad，’ we heard her say， ‘I played it everso much. Honest—I have been playing it. And it’s such asplendid instrument， you don’t know how I love it. Lastnight I played “Bonnie Dundee” and the “Anvil Polka” andthe “Blue Danube” —and lots of pieces. You must surelyhave heard me playing a little， didn’t you， dad？ I didn’t liketo play loud when you was so sick.’
“‘Well， well，’ says Uncle Cal， ‘maybe I did. Maybe I didand forgot about it. My head is a little cranky at times. Iheard the man in the store play it fine. I’m mighty gladyou like it， Marilla. Yes， I believe I could go to sleep awhile if you’ll stay right beside me till I do.’
“There was where Marilla had me guessing. Much as shethought of that old man， she wouldn’t strike a note on thatpiano that he’d bought her. I couldn’t imagine why shetold him she’d been playing it， for the wagon-sheet hadn’tever been off of it since she put it back on the same day itcome. I knew she could play a little anyhow， for I’d onceheard her snatch some pretty fair dance-music out of anold piano at the Charco Largo Ranch.
“Well， in about a week the pneumonia got the best ofUncle Cal. They had the funeral over at Birdstail， andall of us went over. I brought Marilla back home in mybuckboard. Her uncle Ben and his wife were going to staythere a few days with her.
“That night Marilla takes me in the room where thepiano was， while the others were out on the gallery.
“‘Come here， Rush，’ says she； ‘I want you to see thisnow.’
“She unties the rope， and drags off the wagon-sheet.
“If you ever rode a saddle without a horse， or fired offa gun that wasn’t loaded， or took a drink out of an emptybottle， why， then you might have been able to scare anopera or two out of the instrument Uncle Cal had bought.
“Instead of a piano， it was one of the machines they’veinvented to play the piano with. By itself it was about asmusical as the holes of a flute without the flute.
“And that was the piano that Uncle Cal had selected； andstanding by it was the good， fine， all-wool girl that neverlet him know it.
“And what you heard playing a while ago，” concluded Mr.
Kinney， “was that same deputy-piano machine； only just atpresent it’s shoved up against a six-hundred-dollar pianothat I bought for Marilla as soon as we was married.”