uite by accident one day when the family for whom he worked were all
away to a picnic and "Emer" was left to mind the house. One of the
neighbour's boys came over to borrow a neck-yoke. "Emer," glad to be
alone in the house, was in the parlour playing the piano. The
neighbour's boy knocked and knocked at the back door, but got no
response. Finally he went around to the front and looked in the
window to see who was playing the piano, and there sat "Emer"
"ripplin' it off by the yard," the boy said afterward, "the
smashin'est band music you ever heard."

Soon after that "Emer" left the plough, and Dr Emeritus Emory began
to teach music to the young people of the neighbourhood and of the
neighbourhoods beyond, for he was fond of long walks and thought
nothing of twenty miles in a day. His home was where night found him,
and, being of a genial, kindly nature, he was a welcome guest at many
a fireside.

The music-teacher's reticence regarding his own affairs exasperated
some of the women. There was no human way of finding out who he was
or why he left home. Mrs. George Steadman once indignantly exclaimed,
speaking of Dr. Emory,--"You can't even tell if he's married, or if
she's livin'. Maybe she is, for all we know. He never gets no mail.
George went and asked."

Dr. Emory was equally silent on the happenings at the houses at which
he stayed. Mrs. Steadman pointed out to Mrs. Motherwell that "if the
old lad wanted he could be real chatty, instead of sittin' around
singin' his little fiddlin' toons. Here last week when he came to
give Maudie her lesson he came straight from Slater's, and I was just
dyin' to know if they was gettin' ready for Edith's weddin'. We heard
it had been put off, and so I asked him out straight if he saw much
sewin' around. 'They were sewin' onion seed,' says he. He seems kinda
stoopid sometimes. But I says to him, makin' it as plain as I could,
'I mean, did ye see any sewin' around the house, did ye see anything
in the line of sewin?' because I know people often put it away, but
if he was half smart he'd see the bastin' threads or somethin', so I
says, 'Did you see anythin' like sewin?' 'Just the sewin'-machine,'
says he, thinkin' hard. 'I remember distinctly seein' it.' Then I
just got my dander up, for I was determined to know about it, and I
knew very well he c'ud tell me if he'd a mind to. I says, 'Do ye
think Edith is gittin' ready to be married?' and says he, real solemn
like--I thought for