So we had a comfortable breakfast. My aunt
was pleased to see me, she said, look so much better. Miss
Pinshon was not given to expressing what she felt; but she
looked at me two or three times without saying anything, which
I suppose meant satisfaction. Preston was in high feather;
making all sorts of plans for my divertisement during the next
few days. I for my part had my own secret cherished plan,
which made my heart beat quicker whenever I thought of it. But
I wanted somebody's counsel and help; and on the whole I
thought my aunt Gary's would be the safest. So after breakfast
I consulted Preston only about my mysterious little box, which
would not open. Was it a paper weight?
Preston smiled, took up the box and performed some conjuration
upon it, and then — I cannot describe my entranced delight —
as he set it down again on the table, the room seemed to grow
musical. Softest, most liquid sweet notes came pouring forth
one after the other, binding my ears as if I had been in a
state of enchantment.
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