Rensselaer Union, Volume 7, Number 43, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 15 July 1875 — THE PIANO-TUNER’S STORY. [ARTICLE]

THE PIANO-TUNER’S STORY.

“ You are a pair of precious young fools, ancl that’s the best I can tincl to say about you!" said Aunt George. Her name was Miss Georgiana Anderson; but the sweet abbreviation "Georgie” was never used to her; as soon might one think of venturing on familiarities with a bishop! Everybody called her “ Aunt Georgeand, as she walked with a measured, heavy tread, like a grenadier, the name didn’t seem at all inappropriate. She was Lizzie’s Aunt George—not mine. And she had brought Lizzie up in her queer, downright fashion, never giving her a kiss or a caress or an endearing word, yet withal being kind to her after her own way. I wish I could describe Lizzie Anderson to you as she really was,. A little, dimpled, blue-eyed creature, with long, shady lashes, and a shy way of looking at you, like a child; a girl whose voice was low and flute-sweet, and who moved about quietly and noiselessly, like a sweet spring wind rustling the flowers. And only eighteen, too; that was what aggravated Aunt George the most of all. “ I wasn’t married until I was five and thirty!” said Aunt George; “ but you young people can’t be contented without rushing headlong into the vortex. It would be different if you were rich; but, dear me!” and she rubbed her nose perplexedly, “ Joe is nothing on earth but a poor piano-forte tuner, and you haven’t one solitary penny of your own, Lizzie.” “We shall be very economical, Aunt George,” Lizzie answered, cheerfully. “ And you’ll have to be,” answered the old lady grimly. It is my intention to be perfectly frank with the reader. I shall not disguise from him the fact that I had, in our confidential talks, asked Lizzie if she thought Aunt George would do anything for us in a pecuniary way. “Oh, dear, no!” Lizzie had answered, shaking her brow'n curls in a most decided fashion. “She always told me never to expect anything from her; and besides, Joe, she has really nothing to give!” There w r as no getting over these two facts, taken either together or separately. “There’s one comfort, Lizzie,” said I stoutly; “we are young and strong and brave-hearted, and we’ll not ask aid of anybody.” Of course we won’t, Joe,” said Lizzie, her blue eyes sparkling like dew-wet violets at sunrise. I did wish, once or twice, that my business had been something more lucrative than piano-tuning; but it was what I had been'brought up to, and I had a pretty food run of custom on the whole; and, as dzzie said, “ A little will go a great way when you are careful of it.” “You’ll see., Joe,” she added blithely, “ that I shall make a splendid housekeeper.” We had just seventy-five dollars to furnish our little second floor with; but I can assure you our two rooms looked delightfully cozy, with the red and green carpet and neat stained furniture. Lizzie said it looked exactly like a doll’s house, and perhaps she wasn’t very far wrong. “j Such a pair of fools!” reiterated Aunt George, in a prophetic mood; “but there’s one comfort —it won’t last long.” “ Why shouldn’t it, Aunt George?” asked Lizzie, coloring and smiling in that pretty, flower-like way of hers. “ Humph!” said Aunt George. “If you come to that, why don’t the sunshine last forever?” . * “ So it might if there were no clouds,*” Lizzie answered softly. “Ah, child!” sighed Aunt George, “you’re young now, so enjoy it as much as you can. We can’t be young twice over, tnore’s the pity!” Sq we were married quietly, as became our humble estate and moderate expectations, and west to spend a few days in the

country, where I had a sister living on a breezy, old-fashioned farm. Do you think Lizzie and I will ever forget those days, even if we live to be as old as Methuselah? It was a November evening when we came to the “ doll’s house,” where the red merino draperies glowed warmly in the ruddy the tire and the ten kettle was singing out its homely lay of welcome. “ Lizzie,” said I softly, “ are you glad to come home?” And she answered, more with her eyes than her lips, “Oh, so very, very glad! for we are going to be happy here. I know it as well as if I saw all the yeaLs stretched out before me on a map-.” My little prophet of good! Our first year was very blissful, especially after the baby came to make our lives musical, with his little cooing voice; but after that the hard times came. Not that we repined. Lizzie and I were hr ate to endure whatever we could bear together, yet it went to my heart to see her growing pale and thin, through sitting up at night to sew and earn a little extra money, because my business was dull. And, almost before we knew it, the bills began to accumulate, and the rent got behind. “ This won’t do, Joe,” said Lizzie, gravely. “We must do without meat.” “ That is nothing,” said I, laughing, although I felt little enough inclined to be mirthful; “ but we cannot very well do without a roof over our heads.” , “ Don’t fret, Joe,” said my little heartsome wife. “We shall not want. Something will be sure to happen.” “ But what can happen, Lizzie ? The days of miracles are -over. There are no Elijahs and ravens in these times.” “ Yes, there are, Joe,” said Lizzie cheerfully, “ although we don’t always know it at the time. There is an order for you to tune a piano up in South street-; isn’t that a ‘raven?’” • - :

And she held the little strip of paper triumphantly up before me. When I came hack from South street Lizzie met me at the door with humid eyes and a troubled face. “ What is the matter?” I cried out anxiously. “ Lizzie —not the baby? Nothing has happened to him?" “No,” Lizzie answered; “he is quite well, and fast asleep, like a little white lamb. But —Aunt George is dead.” “ Aunt George!” I repeated, vacantly. “Yes; she died tins morning, and I could not he sent for in time to receive her last breath. Oh, Joe, she was very, very kind to me.” i Are we men naturally so selfish, or was I, hunted and driven by want, an exception to the ordinary rule? For I confess that as Lizzie stood there looking fearfully up into my face the first thought that followed the entrance of this unexpected news into my brain was: Would Aunt George leave us anything? I supposed Lizzie was her sole living relation, and surely, ln air tliese yeaii's. thbugh her in: come was small, she must have saved something. But lam thankful to remember that I never told Lizzie what was in my mind. “She was very old, dear,” I said, striving to comfort my grieved wife; “ over threescore and ten. It is the allotted age of humanity, and you know she had grown to be very feeble.” “And I know she is better off,” said Lizzie; “but, Joe, she is all the mother I ever had.” We went to Aunt George’s funeral, and her will was read —a very brief document —in which she bequeathed her simple household furniture and belongings to a nephew in Wisconsin, and “to Elizabeth, wife of Joseph Allen, as a token of the affectionate remembrance of the. deceased, her piano.” A tuneless, jarigling instrument, half a century old, with carved spindle legs, ornaments of inlaid brass and keys as yellow as Aunt George’s own complexion. I laughed contemptuously when I heard the words. But Lizzie laid her hand gently on my arm. “It was Aunt George’s, dear,” she said softly, “and we must cherish it for her sake. Besides,” in a whisper, “ think how it will amuse the baby.” And that was the end of all my expectations of an inheritance from Lizzie’s Aunt George. The old piano was duly carted home the next day. If it had been a fashionable instrument, of modern make, they could never have gotten it up the narrow staircase; but it looked quite friendly and home-like opposite the fireplace, its lank proportions covered by a faded green cloth. I shrank back with a little grimace as Lizzie touched the keys to make the baby laugh. “ Of course it is out of tune, Joe,” she said merrily; “but you’ll soon set that right. And I shall rub up my practice again in no time.” It happened to be a very dull time just then; so I had nothing else to do but to take Lizzie’s advice; and in just half an hour I had the old instrument nearly dissected, much to Mr. Baby’s edification, as he sat gravely on the floor in the midst of the interior developments of the ancient piano. And now comes the most marvelous part of my story. All piano-tuners know that when you take away the front piece above the keyboard there is a hollow place of considerable extent, in any instrument of ordinary size. And as I stopped to blow the dust away from this place I saw a bundle or roll of bank notes fastened round twith a yellowed slip of paper, on which was written, “For my niece Lizzie.” “ Lizzie!” I cried breathlessly, “ Lizzie!” and she was at my side in an instant. And, if you will believe me, there were $5,000, the accumulated savings of Aunt George’s frugal life; and this was what she had meant by giving her piano to us. That $5,000 was the starting point of the snug little fortune we have since scraped together; and if Aunt George could knowhow much her bequest has done for us, I think it would do her kindly heart good. And to this day I never take a piano apart without a serious peep into the hollow repository, lest perchance it should contain some concealed mystery. But I have never found anything since, and probably never shall. People seldom have more than one romance in the course of their lives.