“I came on a matter of business,” said he, when he had shaken hands, “if you can call asking a favour business.  Shall I plunge into it?—­A certain storage house in a city near our old home has gone out of commission, and we are notified that everything my mother has had stored there since we left the home must be moved at once.  Now that my sister and her friend are to be here with us through the summer we should like to have my sister’s piano where she could use it.  But”—­he spread out his arms with a gesture conveying the idea of great proportions—­“the piano is a grand—­and not a miniature grand at that—­concert size.  We couldn’t possibly put it in our little house.  Would it be asking too much of you to allow it to stand in one of your rooms through the summer, where Janet could do some practising on it?  I assure you her practising is of the nature of a morning musicale,” he added—­as if Sally might need assurance in the matter.

Sally turned to Josephine.  “It’s a special providence,” said she solemnly, “to keep me from envying you your matting and willow furniture.  Will you have a concert grand in the west wing?  I trow not.”

Then she answered to her questioner.  “Of course we shall be delighted,” she told him.  “And as I say, it will have a chastening effect on the Burnside family, who are thinking of furnishing our west wing and spending the summer with us.  I’m sure they won’t think of bringing a grand piano out here.”

Donald Ferry looked greatly pleased at this news.  “That’s fine,” said he.  “Mother has been promising Miss Constance Carew and Janet all sorts of pleasures in the country, and I should say this makes a sure thing of it.  If four girls on a farm can’t have a good time together—­even when not aided and abetted by as many boys—­there will be something wrong with them—­and the boys.  Can’t we be called boys?—­That’s great news.  And I may tell mother you will prove your good friendship by taking the white elephant of a piano?  May we send it right away?  You see, since it must be moved at once, it had best come where it is to stay.  And we’ll send around a tuner.  Please use it all you can, just to keep it in good shape.”

“I’m not the tiniest sort of a musician,” said Sally regretfully.  “But Josephine is—­she’ll keep it in tune for you.  I’ll merely see that it’s dusted.”

When he had gone Sally and Josephine looked at each other.  “Miss Burnside,” said Sally, solemnly, “I feel it in my bones that you and Miss Ferry and Miss Carew and Miss Lane are to take part, this summer, in a melodrama of thrilling interest.  Country setting, background of hay-field, with cows coming down the lane.  Curtain rises to the time of ‘Sweet Lavender.’  Miss Burnside is discovered, sun-bonnet on head, rake in hand, pretending to accomplish the bunching up of one hay-cock before the sun goes down.  Enter at right young city clergyman, also in rustic attire.  At the same time, enter, left, Miss Carew, in rival sun-bonnet.  Miss Burnside gives one glance at her rival—­”