Lancy had no eyes for anything but the piano, and as Susan opened it she smilingly exclaimed: 

“Confess, now, that you think there is little music to be got out of this ancient-looking thing.”

“Well, it is an odd make, certainly, but some of these old pianos have a fine tone.  Sit down and play something for us, Miss Taylor,” and he drew the music-stool in place.

“Oh, no!  I couldn’t think of it!” she replied, smiling.  “My playing is not of an entertaining kind as yet, for even mother flies to the kitchen when I try a new piece, but you will find me a good listener.”

Was that the same old piano? thought Susan, as she stood by the instrument watching Lancy’s fingers passing over the keys.  Why, it seemed to be a thing of life; and she moved away almost in awe at the sounds that came forth from the hitherto despised keys.

Presently Dexie began to sing, low and softly at first, then her expressive voice swelled forth, thrilling the listeners that gathered at the door.  Susan slipped away, her eyes full of tears.

“Oh! if I could only play and sing like that I would wish for nothing more,” said she to her sister.  “That anthem means more than the mere words and music.”

“Yes, it sounds like family prayers,” replied her sister.  “I declare I don’t know what I am crying for.  I wonder if it would be a sin to mash these potatoes while that singing is going on; they will be getting cold, I’m afraid.”

But the closing words rang out joyously, “But Thou hast been merciful and heard us; therefore Thy name will we praise all the day long.”

Not until she had finished did Dexie realize that she had so many listeners, but she turned a bright face to the group at the door.

“I did not know we had such an audience.”

“Don’t stop, friends,” said Mr. Taylor, coming into the room.  “Such music is quite a treat.  I guess, Susan, there is more in that piano than you ever dreamed of.  Let us hear something else.”

Lancy rose from the music-stool, saying to Dexie: 

“Play ‘The Mocking Bird,’ and I’ll sing to your whistle.”

A moment later Dexie’s supple fingers were dancing over the keys in a delightful prelude.  Then Lancy’s voice filled the room as he sang the well-known song, accompanied by the exquisite notes of the southern mocking bird, and the continuous warble that poured from Dexie’s throat during the chorus made her listeners start as if a veritable bird were concealed in the room.

“Well, that spoils the old proverb from this time forth,” said Mr. Taylor, as he leaned back against the wall and thrust his thumbs into the armholes of his vest.  “Whistling girls and crowing hens will hereafter have a chance to be heard.  Old saws ain’t always true, eh, Miss Sherwood?”

“Well, I never heard a hen crow yet, Mr. Taylor,” and Dexie laughed softly, “and I do not know what is their usual fate, but the proverb does not alarm me in the least.”