the door-yard was a weathered sign on which
was lettered carefully:

"The rose is red; the violet blue;
Please shut this gate when you come through."

And on the other side of the sign, challenging the possible
carelessness of the chance visitor, was the legend:--

"Now you've been in and had your chuck,
Please close this gate, just once, for luck."

Otherwise the place was like any mountain homestead of the better sort,
viewed from without. The interior of the cabin, however, was unusual in
that it boasted of being the only music-room within fifty miles in any
direction.

When the genial Bud had been overtaken with the idea of homesteading, he
had had visions of a modest success which would allow him to entertain
his erstwhile cow-puncher companions when they should ride his way. To
this end he had labored with more heart than judgment.

The main room was large and lighted by two unusually large windows. The
dimensions of the room were ample enough to accommodate a fair number of
dancers. Bud knew that if cowboys loved anything they loved to dance.
The phonograph was so common that it offered no distinction in gracing
Bud's camp; so with much labor and expense he had freighted an upright
piano from the distant railroad, an innovation that at first had stunned
and then literally taken the natives off their feet. Riders from all
over the country heard of Bud's piano, questioned its reality, and
finally made it a point to jog over and see for themselves.

For a time Bud's homestead was popular. A real piano, fifty miles from
a settlement, was something worth riding far to see. But respect for the
shining veneer of the case was not long-lived. In a moment of
inspiration, a cowboy pulled out his jackknife and carved his home brand
on the shining case. Bud could have said more than he did when he
discovered it. Later another contingent, not to be outdone, followed
this cowboy's incisive example and carved its brand on the piano.
Naturally it became a custom. No visitor in boots and chaps left the
cabin without first having carved some brand.

Bud suffered in silence, consoling himself with the thought that while
there were many pianos in the lower country, there were none like his.
And "As long as you don't monkey with her works or shoot her up," he
told his friends, "I don't care how much you carve her; only leave
enough sidin' and roof to hold her together."

Cowboys came, danced long and late as Bud pum