That was the first occasion on which I heard of my music lessons, but
not the last. My mother seemed to take wonderfully to the idea. She was
always discussing the things that she meant us to learn, but up to then
we had been too small for any of her plans to be of much importance. To
take music lessons was a very simple matter. It could not be considered
work, but play on a larger scale; and after I had slipped into the
parlor, and touched the piano keys with a timorous finger, I knew that I
should like it. The keys were voices. When grown-up people touched them,
they sang together beautifully. There was one which was a fairy queen,
and one which was a prince, and one away down in the lower bass made me
tremble when it talked. That was an ogre. I thought that he might eat
little children. I ran out of the parlor in a hurry for fear that he
should catch me. Something pattered up the stairs behind me, and chased
me along the hall, but in my mother's room not even an ogre would dare
to come.
"She loves music!" my mother cried. "She is always hanging around the
piano."
Grandmother looked at me curiously.
"There has never been a musician in our family," she remarked, in a
dubious way.
"I played before I was married," my mother answered. "There doesn't seem
to be any time for it now."
She sighed a little as she spoke.
Her lap was full of pretty new cloth which she was making into dresses,
and one of the twins was riding on the rockers of her chair, and one was
whistling, shrilly. My mother rocked slowly that there might not be an
accident. Most people would have thought that she was only a mother, but
at that precise moment she was, also, an express train coming into a
station, and I was a passenger waiting to get aboard.
"I think I'll get Madame Tomaso to give Rhoda lessons," she said. "We
might as well have the best teacher in town. Dad had the best for me
when I was a child. It is the first step which always counts."
The whistle sounded again, and two passengers climbed into the rocker
behind my mother's back. We were a very tight fit for the chair. She sat
a little forward in a meek way, so as to make room for our toes, and
rocked more slowly. The train was going uphill carrying a heavy load.
When she was consulted on the subject, Madame Tomaso proved to be very
glad to give me lessons. For some reason or other it had been a poor
season for her, either because there were only a few little girls
musically inclined in the town, or because, which seems more probable,
she had a name for severity. She appeared very amiable, however, the
first morning that she entered our house. She drew me to her, with quite
a motherly hand, when I came bashfully into the parlor to meet her.
"So this is the small Miss," she said, in a terrifying voice like the
ogre's. "And she loves the music? It is well."
She shook hands with me very hard. She had on a dress trimmed with bits
of black glass,--I always hated jet afterwards,--and a red silk collar
which exactly matched the hearty red in her cheeks. Her hair was black,
and her eyes were black. I did not quite like the way that she looked at
me. I wondered if she ate little children.
"She is so bright," my mother declared, fondly, pushing the hair back
from my forehead. "Stand up straight, Rhoda. You will find that she
learns very quickly, Madame Tomaso."
"So?" the ogress answered, in an absent manner.
She was looking at the piano-stool and at me. She was evidently wild to
begin, and had not much time to spare for motherly confidences.
"I am afraid that she might fall off the stool," my mother said,
hurriedly. "Couldn't you use a chair, Madame Tomaso? Though the chairs
are rather low for such a little girl."
They made a chair higher with a big book and a sofa pillow, and set me
on top in front of the fascinating white keys. The twins were peeping in
the door. I looked back at them grandly. I felt very old and important.
It seemed almost impossible that only that morning we had been playing
express trains together, like children! Still, there was something about
it which frightened me, notwithstanding my pride.
"Go away!" I whispered, warningly, to the figures at the door.
They went quickly in evident alarm. Even Dick did not stop for a second
look.
"Will she hurt sister?" Trixie asked, in a high voice, as they climbed
upstairs.
Dick peered between the banisters.
"If she does, I'll shoot her," he declared, stoutly.
I was glad to see them escape, but I did not like it quite so well when
my mother followed them, and the door was tightly closed. I had such a
trapped feeling. And the pillow was so high that I could not get down
without help. Anything might happen! Madame Tomaso yawned a little as
she settled down by my side, but she was still kind. She put a paper in
front of me which was covered with black scratches.
"Which is 'a'?" she asked, sociably, pointing to a row of things.
"'A' was an Archer who shot at a Frog," I recited, in a timid whisper.
The twins and I had learned that out of a pink book with blue edges. The
archer was dressed in red, and the frog was green with yellow trimmings.
I could, also, say the catechism from cover to cover, if she would like
to hear that, and Who Killed Cock Robin. I had never supposed that
anybody but my mother cared for such things. She loved to have us say
them to her.
"And 'b'?" Madame Tomaso inquired, staring.
"'B' was a Butcher who had a big Dog," I went on, with growing
confidence.
I did not feel nearly so frightened now. She was rather nice. If I were
very good, maybe she would not eat me after all.
"Don't you know your letters?" she demanded, in astonishment. "Don't
you go to school?"
"No," I answered, sadly. "I am not strong."
"Ah! Bah!" she cried, in a rude way.
I was sure, perfectly sure, that even a Hottentot would never have said
that.
Madame Tomaso taught me my letters that morning, at least the first
seven of them, which seemed particularly needed in music. She called for
a bottle of ink, and wrote their names on the white keys. She was very
patient with me, as I afterwards found out when I was no longer a new
pupil to be coaxed along the thorny path. She put each finger where it
belonged, and once, when I played five notes without any trouble, she
went down through a rent in her skirt which was fastened together with
safety-pins, and fished me out a caramel from a hidden pocket. It was
very old and hard, and looked as if it had seen much service, but she
regarded me with a benevolent expression while I ate it, and I felt that
we had made a good beginning. Take it altogether, I thought that I liked
music, and I practiced for hours. It was a great deal of fun when Madame
Tomaso was not there, for then I did it all with one finger, which made
it much easier. As my feet hung in the air, the twins worked the pedals
for me, and my mother would come into the parlor with a pleased smile,
and fix the curtains so that I might have a good light.
"That child will surely be a musician," I heard her tell my father, in
an eager way. "I've promised her a ring the day that she can play the
Träumerei. It may take a long time, but then she practices _so_
faithfully!"
My father groaned. I think my mother slapped him.
Of all the family it was, perhaps, Norah who was the most delighted
with my lessons. She took a very friendly interest in them. She always
dusted the parlor when I was there practicing, and she would sometimes
put down a big finger herself on the piano keys in an experimental way,
and jump when they sounded. There was only one thing about my music
which worried Norah, and that was the fact that I knew no tunes.
"Sure it's time that you were learning something," she would say,
suspiciously. "Ain't she keeping you back? Can't you play 'The Wearing
of the Green' yit?"
"No," I answered, humbly.
"You ought to have an Irish teacher," she said, conclusively. "Madame
Tomaso! It's a cat's name that she has! I never could abide them
foreigners."
"Listen, Norah," I urged.
Very carefully, very slowly, with one finger and infinite pains, I
played "Home, Sweet Home" for her. She burst into tears, and throwing
her arms around my neck, rocked back and forth with grief. For a moment
I thought that I had hurt her feelings, but it was all right. Norah was
only homesick for old Ireland. She was paying me the highest compliment
that I ever received.
Little by little Madame Tomaso came to treat me differently. The coaxing
voice grew gruff, and the black eyes savage. No more caramels came out
of the rent in her skirt, and sometimes I almost fancied that she was
scolding me! I was very little to be scolded. No one had done that
before. I tried harder than ever to please her. I practiced with two
fingers, and, at last, even with three, one very heavy in the bass, and
two very shaky in the treble. I did not tell anybody about the things
which she said, for I was ashamed, but I imagined that granddad
suspected. Granddad was always so sharp. It was a wonderful comfort to
hide my face on his shoulder, and be petted. He was sorry for me without
my saying a single word. He made me draw on the bank every day, and he
confided to me all the troubles which he had had when he was a boy.
Once he told me of an awful thing that he did. He puffed out his cheeks
before he began to talk, so I knew that it was going to be funny.
"I didn't get on well with a maid my mother had," he said. "Her name was
Polly. Did I ever tell you about Polly, Rhoda?"
"No, granddad," I answered, eagerly.
I was leaning against his chair, and we had the parlor quite to
ourselves. It was a time for confidences.
"Polly didn't like boys," granddad went on.
"But she liked you, granddad," I asserted, loyally.
He shook his head.
"Polly liked me least of all. She may have had her reasons, but it was
her fault in the first place, mind you. When I'd bring home a poor stray
dog, she would turn it out to starve! And when I brought home stones,
and I was always fond of stones, she would dump them out in the road. I
felt that I should like to get even."