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Ken lifted the crisp new sheet of music and stared at it, and then read aloud the words on the cover. "Fairy Music," it said and his name was there, and the Maestro's, and "net price, 60c" "like a real one," indeed. And within were flights of printed notes, and the words of the "Toad Pome" in cold black and white. And above them, in small italics, "Dedicated to Kirkleigh Sturgis."
Ben, harassed, pencil in mouth, professed ignorance. "Kirkleigh Sturgis," said the owner of the musical instrument, "Winterbottom Road." "Mister Sturgis," said the auctioneer, while Ben scribbled. "Step right up, young man. Give Ben your money and put your pianner in your pocket. Now folks, the next article "
Then came the familiar crackle of an open fire, and Kirk was piloted into the delicious cozy depths of a big chair beside the hearth. Creakings, as of another chair being pulled up, then a contented sigh, indicated that his host had sat down opposite him. "May I now ask your name?" the voice inquired. "I'm Kirkleigh Sturgis, at Applegate Farm," said Kirk.
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