surroundings, and perched on the
extreme edge of a library chair.

IX ALL ABOUT THE POOR BRAKEMAN

Mr. Potter was very miserable indeed on the edge of his chair, and
twirling his hat dreadfully; and for the first moment after the handsome
old gentleman spoke to him, he had nothing to say.

Old Mr. King was asking him for the third time, "You found out all about
poor Jim's family, eh?"

At last he emerged from his fit of embarrassment enough to reply, "Yes,
sir."

"Now that is very good," the old gentleman cried approvingly, and wiped
his face vigorously after his effort, "very good indeed, Mr. Potter."

Hiram Potter now followed up his first attempt to find his voice; and
trying to forget the handsome surroundings that had so abashed him, he
went on now quite glibly.

"You see, sir, there's six of 'em--Jim's children."

"Dear me!" ejaculated old Mr. King.

"Yes, sir, there are." Mr. Potter's hat began to twirl uneasily again.
"And the wife--she ain't strong, just got up from rheumatic fever."

"That's bad--very bad," said Mr. King.

"Those three boys of his are good," said Mr. Potter, brightening up a
bit in the general gloom; "and the biggest one says he's going to be a
brakeman just like his father. But the mother wants 'em all to go to
school. You see, that's what Jim was working for."

"And the girl who wanted to play on the piano?" broke in Polly eagerly.
Then she blushed rosy red. "Oh, forgive me, Grandpapa, for
interrupting," and she hid her face on old Mr. King's arm.

"I was just going to ask about that girl, myself," said Grandpapa
promptly. "Tell us about her, Mr. Potter, if you please."

Hiram Potter set his hat carefully on the floor beside his chair. It was
his Sunday hat, and evidently that, with his best clothes which he had
donned in honor of the occasion, were objects of great care. He
scratched his head and thought deeply. "Well, now, you see, sir," he
said slowly, "that's almost a hopeless case, and I wish, as sure as I
sit here, that girl hadn't never thought of piano music. But it's born
in her, the mother said; the girl's grandfather was a musician in the
old home in Germany, and so she can't help it. Why, she's just so crazy
about it, she'll drum all up and down the kitchen table to make believe
that----"

"Oh Grandpapa!" cried Polly in the greatest excitement, and hopping up
and down by his side, "that's just as I used to do in the little brown
house,--the very same w