Miss Billy - Cover

Miss Billy

Copyright© 2024 by Eleanor H. Porter

Chapter 13: A Surprise All Around

May came, and with it warm sunny days. There was a little balcony at the rear of the second floor, and on this Mrs. Stetson and Billy sat many a morning and sewed. There were occupations that Billy liked better than sewing; but she was dutiful, and she was really fond of Aunt Hannah; so she accepted as gracefully as possible that good lady’s dictum that a woman who could not sew, and sew well, was no lady at all.

One of the things that Billy liked to do so much better than to sew was to play on Cyril’s piano. She was very careful, however, that Mr. Cyril himself did not find this out. Cyril was frequently gone from the house, and almost as frequently Aunt Hannah took naps. At such times it was very easy to slip up-stairs to Cyril’s rooms, and once at the piano, Billy forgot everything else.

One day, however, the inevitable happened: Cyril came home unexpectedly. The man heard the piano from William’s floor, and with a surprised ejaculation he hurried upstairs two steps at a time. At the door he stopped in amazement.

Billy was at the piano, but she was not playing “rag-time,” “The Storm,” nor yet “The Maiden’s Prayer.” There was no music before her, but under her fingers “big bass notes” very much like Cyril’s own, were marching on and on to victory. Billy’s face was rapturously intent and happy.

“By Jove—Billy!” gasped the man.

Billy leaped to her feet and whirled around guiltily.

“Oh, Mr. Cyril—I’m so sorry!”

“Sorry!—and you play like that!”

“No, no; I’m not sorry I played. It’s because you—found me.”

Billy’s cheeks were a shamed red, but her eyes were defiantly brilliant, and her chin was at a rebellious tilt. “I wasn’t doing any—harm; not if you weren’t here—with your NERVES!”

The man laughed and came slowly into the room.

“Billy, who taught you to play?”

“No one. I can’t play. I can only pick out little bits of things in C.”

“But you do play. I just heard you.”

Billy shrugged her shoulders.

“That was nothing. It was only what I had heard. I was trying to make it sound like—yours.”

“And, by George! you succeeded,” muttered Cyril under his breath; then aloud he asked: “Didn’t you ever study music?”

Billy’s eyes dimmed.

“No. That was the only thing Aunt Ella and I didn’t think alike about. She had an old square piano, all tin-panny and thin, you know. I played some on it, and wanted to take lessons; but I didn’t want to practise on that. I wanted a new one. That’s what she wouldn’t do—get me a new piano, or let me do it. She said SHE practised on that piano, and that it was quite good enough for me, especially to learn on. I—I’m afraid I got stuffy. I hated that piano so! But I was almost ready to give in when—when Aunt Ella died.”

 
There is more of this chapter...
The source of this story is StoryRoom

To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account (Why register?)

Get No-Registration Temporary Access*

* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.