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This would be quite as good reasoning as Berkeley's, and very sound and useful, so far as it defines the limits of the piano's faculties.
Now Will joined the discussion, but his mother would take no denial. "These chairs and sofa be yours, and the piano's my present to Phoebe. She'll play to you of a Sunday afternoon belike." "An' it's here she'll do it; for my Sundays'll be spent along with you, of coourse, 'cept when you comes up to my farm to spend 'em.
Olga Mihalovna remembered her guests and hurried into the drawing-room. "I have so enjoyed your playing," she said, going up to the piano. "I have so enjoyed it. You have a wonderful talent! But don't you think our piano's out of tune?" At that moment the two schoolboys walked into the room, accompanied by the student. "My goodness!
The sash gave, with the faintest possible protest, and by imperceptible degrees I lifted it to the top of the groove, and the least bit above it, say half an inch in all; but it made an appreciable difference to the sounds within, as when you remove your foot from a piano's soft pedal.
"Yes," said another member of the committee," but I called there lately, and the piano's gone at last." Many interesting things came out in the course of our conversation. One mentioned a house he had called at, where there was neither chair, table, nor bed; and one of the little lads had to hold up a piece of board for him to write upon.
Age enlarges and enriches the powers of some musical instruments notably those of the violin but it seems to set a piano's teeth on edge. Most of the music in vogue there is the same that those pianos prattled in their innocent infancy; and there is something very pathetic about it when they go over it now, in their asthmatic second childhood, dropping a note here and there where a tooth is gone.
"Give me time to take them off," he offered. As he stooped to unbuckle them, Lute darted to escape, but was herded back to the shelter of the piano. "All right," he growled. "On your head be it. If the piano's scratched I'll tell Paula." "I've got witnesses," she panted, indicating with her blue joyous eyes the young things in the doorways. "Very well, my dear."
Her hands, long, slender, taper-fingered, actually dainty, although brown and roughened by hard labor, were, it seemed to him, better fitted for the fingering of a piano's keys than for the coarse and heavy tasks to which he knew they must be well accustomed. He gazed at her in veritable wonder. How had she blossomed, thus, here in this wilderness?
She comes out of it with a violent start, as though she had just been bee-stung. She now cuts loose, regardless of the piano's intrinsic value and its associations to its owners. She skitters her flying fingers up and down the instrument from one end to the other, producing a sound like hailstones falling on a tin roof.
"And so the piano's to go," she continued. "What beautiful tunes Mr Pontifex did play upon it, to be sure; and there was one I liked better than any I ever heard.
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