of some chosen means of not doing so.
She found herself, before she knew it, making her banjo a property in
the little comedy, and professing so much pleasure in the fact that Miss
Dryfoos was taking it up; she had herself been so much interested by it.
Anything, she said, was a relief from the piano; and then, between
the guitar and the banjo, one must really choose the banjo, unless one
wanted to devote one's whole natural life to the violin. Of course,
there was the mandolin; but Margaret asked if they did not feel that the
bit of shell you struck it with interposed a distance between you and
the real soul of the instrument; and then it did have such a faint,
mosquitoy little tone! She made much of the question, which they
left her to debate alone while they gazed solemnly at her till she
characterized the tone of the mandolin, when Mela broke into a large,
coarse laugh.

"Well, that's just what it does sound like," she explained defiantly to
her sister. "I always feel like it was going to settle somewhere, and
I want to hit myself a slap before it begins to bite. I don't see what
ever brought such a thing into fashion."

Margaret had not expected to be so powerfully seconded, and she asked,
after gathering herself together, "And you are both learning the banjo?"
"My, no!" said Mela, "I've gone through enough with the piano. Christine
is learnun' it."

"I'm so glad you are making my banjo useful at the outset, Miss
Dryfoos." Both girls stared at her, but found it hard to cope with the
fact that this was the lady friend whose banjo Beaton had lent them.
"Mr. Beaton mentioned that he had left it here. I hope you'll keep it as
long as you find it useful."

At this amiable speech even Christine could not help thanking her. "Of
course," she said, "I expect to get another, right off. Mr. Beaton is
going to choose it for me."

"You are very fortunate. If you haven't a teacher yet I should so like
to recommend mine."

Mela broke out in her laugh again. "Oh, I guess Christine's pretty well
suited with the one she's got," she said, with insinuation. Her sister
gave her a frowning glance, and Margaret did not tempt her to explain.

"Then that's much better," she said. "I have a kind of superstition in
such matters; I don't like to make a second choice. In a shop I like to
take the first thing of the kind I'm looking for, and even if I choose
further I come back to the original."

"How funny!" said Mela. "Well, now, I'