Only the day before the piano had, with much shouting and cracking of whip, been dragged up from the brink of the river. Every carpenter, plasterer, woodsman and farm-hand had left his task to share the excitement. All the neighbourhood had gathered to see the four horses strain and stamp, in their efforts to raise the piano. Once the ropes had slipped and it had all but plunged back again, but at last it stood safe on the top. Today it was to be carried into the drawing-room.
All that she had borne from Nicholas now crowded upon Gussie. Whatever she had, he wanted. Whatever she did, he interfered. He was the centre of everything. Mama, Papa, Nurse, Lizzie-everyone liked him best. Even Patsy O’Flynn had put her down from his shoulder this morning to elevate Nicholas to that eminence. Little Ernest was nice. She could do with him but Nicholas she could not abide. The long sharp slope, up which the piano had been dragged, lay before her. It had been scraped to comparative smoothness by the weight of the piano. Gussie put all her strength into a last push to the pram. She let it go.
Down the slope it hurtled, Nicholas still clinging to the back of the seat. His expression changed from surprise to joyful devil-may-careness. A wheel striking a stone caused a bump that threw him into the air. He landed in the pram again but in a different position. Gussie could no longer see his face.
Now the perambulator reached the river’s edge. It overturned, with Nicholas beneath it. He did not move. The front wheels were above the water. Suddenly Gussie was frightened. She felt alone in an immense world. She looked down the steep. The piano had been at the bottom. Now it was at the top. The pram had been at the top, now it was at the bottom. Nicholas had been noisy, now he was silent. Things changed too much. Gussie was afraid.
She trotted in the direction from whence came the sound of an axe and voices of the two French-Canadians singing. Their singing reminded her of something long past, something that was pleasant and soothing. She stood concealed, watching the swing of the axes and the way the muscles rose in lumps on their brown arms.
Gussie gave a little skip of pleasure. For an instant the forest was blotted out and she saw the kitchen of the house in the Rue St. Louis and felt Marie’s arms about her, rocking her, heard Marie’s voice singing.
She discovered tiny pink flowers starring the young grass at her feet and bent to put her face down to theirs. She heard Nurse’s voice calling.
"Augusta! Augusta!" There was a frantic note in the voice.
Then Nurse saw her and ran to her.
"Where is Baby?" she panted.
"Down there", said Gussie, pointing to the bottom of the ravine.
"Merciful heaven!" She ran to the verge and peered over. Gussie followed her, watched her run frantically down the steep. Finger in mouth, she saw Nurse lift the pram, take Nicholas into her arms and examine him, then toil up again, her face crimson.
Nicholas had been no more hurt than the piano had been, Gussie decided, staring up into his face. He looked quiet and puzzled. His bonnet was down over one eye. Nurse set him on the ground, then again descended into the ravine and brought up the pram. She was completely winded. She took out the pillow and coverings and shook the earth from them. She plumped up the pillow and rearranged all. Every now and again she cast a fearful glance toward the house. When Nicholas had been embraced and tenderly kissed, Nurse bent over Gussie.
"How did it happen?" she demanded fiercely. "What did you do, you wicked girl?"
"I pushed the pram", answered Gussie, "and it went over. I was giving him a ride".
"It’s a marvel you did not kill him". She took Gussie by the shoulders and shook her violently, then slapped first her hands, then her cheeks. "Take that!" she said, "and don’t you dare tell Mama or Papa about this. Now stop crying. You haven’t got the half of what you deserve".
That afternoon the piano case was removed. The piano stood exposed to the sunlight, apparently none the worse for all it had been through. It remained to be seen what its tone would be. A platform on rollers had been constructed, on which it was drawn to the house, and a half-dozen men carried it with what were, to Gussie, rather frightening shoutings and strugglings. When at last it was safe in the drawing-room, the men stood about it admiring its rosewood case, the carvings of its legs, its silver candle-holders, with almost as much pride as if it had been their own.
When the men were gone, Adeline and Philip, Daisy and Wilmott were left.
"Now", exclaimed Daisy, "things really begin to look settled and homelike! I always say that the piano is the soul of the house. I do hope it is not too dreadfully out of tune".
"Please sit down and play something", said Philip. "Let’s find out the worst at once".
Daisy arranged herself on the stool, after a number of twirlings of it up and down till it was of the desired height. Then she broke into a Strauss waltz.
"It’s not bad", she declared, above the music. "Not bad at all. The tone is sweet".
Philip was delighted. He put an arm about Adeline’s waist and, without considering whether or not she was in condition to waltz, whirled her away. "Houp-la!" he cried. "Why, it’s ages since we’ve danced together".
Supple and strong, Adeline skimmed the floor with him. Wilmott stood looking on a little gloomily, wishing he too had a partner. Then, seeing Gussie peeping round the door, he went to her, bowed deeply in the Frenchified manner he had picked up in Quebec, and said:
"Will you do me the honour, Miss Whiteoak?"
She bowed gravely and, holding her by her hands, he led her round and round.
"We shall often have parties here", said Adeline across Philip’s shoulder. "Surely we are the happiest people in the world!" She sank down on a sofa, happily flushed but a little tired after the waltz. Daisy turned round on the stool.
"I should so love to dance", she said, "if anyone would dance with me".
"Play us a tune, Wilmott!" said Philip, and raised Daisy to her feet.
Daisy’s playing had been gay, facile, if somewhat incorrect. Wilmott’s was slow, with a kind of precise sensuousness. Daisy’s sinuous body expressed, almost brazenly, her pleasure in the rhythmic movement. The two had frequently danced together the past winter.
"I do so love dancing with you, Captain Whiteoak", she breathed. "I’m lost to all else in the world".
He gave a gay laugh, held her a little more firmly and whirled farther down the room. Augusta stood by Wilmott’s side, thumping her small fists on the bass notes. He shook his head at her but she persisted.
"Gussie is spoiling everything", cried Daisy. "Do stop her, Mrs. Whiteoak!"
Adeline swooped down on Gussie, picked her up and set her on the sofa. Gussie’s little pantaletted legs dangled helplessly.
"Is there no hope of our dancing together?" Wilmott asked of Adeline.
"When I have rested a little".
Wilmott played a polka which the dancers executed with spirit. Then he came and sat by Adeline’s side. He said:
"I don’t think I want to dance with you to that girl’s playing. She plays horribly".
Adeline stretched out her hand and took his. "You seem to be in an evil mood, James", she said. "I think Daisy performs beautifully on the piano. And how she dances!"
"I had rather die than dance with her", he said.
Philip came to them. "When you see the wallpaper on this room", he said, "and the really handsome curtains at the windows and the carpet on the floor, you will see a room of some elegance".
"It is certainly large", said Wilmott. "The floor space is twice that of my entire house".