"Why, _I_ don't know. Don't _you_ know? I thought you knew all about
music and pianos."

"No, I don't, Kitty," said Ned, in a burst of remorseful frankness. "I'm
the only one of the family that don't. The only things I could ever sing
were 'Greenland's Icy Mountains' and 'Oh, Susannah' (that's a song
mother used to sing to us children), and I always got them mixed up,
because they begin just alike; so I never dare to sing 'Greenland's Icy'
in church."

Kitty's words of comfort were as kind as those of her aunt, but Ned felt
very anxious to get away from the scene of his discomfiture, and was
glad to find himself at last on the road home, where he arrived in due
season, finding the family at tea. It was not until he was alone with
his father and mother that he unburdened himself.

"Father," he began, with some effort, "will you allow me to send a
person at your expense to tune Miss Pamela's piano?"

"At _my_ expense? Well, I should want first to know why you ask it."

"The fact of it is, sir, I undertook to tune it myself, and--well, I'm
afraid I made a bad business of it."

"_You did_ WHAT?" asked his mother, turning on him a look of such
comical amazement that he could not help laughing, although he turned
redder than before.

"I tuned her piano."

"Where did _you_ ever learn to tune a piano? I always thought you had no
ear for music."

"I didn't do it with my ears, I did it with my hands, and it was hard
enough work, too. They are all blistered, and my wrists ache, and I am
as lame all over as if I had been sawing wood all day."

"How did you do it? and, in the name of all that is ridiculous, _why_?"
gasped his mother.

"Well, I did it just as I've seen Seaflatt do yours. I screwed every
wire up as tight as I could, and kept on fiddling with the other hand on
the key to see if it kept on sounding, just _exactly_ as he always
does."

Ned never forgot the peal of laughter which came from his parents. Both
keenly relished the joke, and when Ned learned that what he had done
could easily be undone, he felt so much relieved as to be able to laugh
with them.

"Yes," said his father, emphatically, when he could recover his voice,
"I think you had better send Seaflatt up to Miss Pamela's as soon as
possible, and set her mind at rest."

"And, oh, Ned," said his mother, "if ever you tune another piano, may I
be there to see--and hear!"

"If ever I do, ma'am," he answered, with a vigorous shake of the head,