she would not need to practice. In her heart she had not liked her music
lessons at all, but she had never dreamed of not accepting them from
Aunt Frances as she accepted everything else. Also she had liked to hear
Aunt Frances boast about how much better she could play than other
children of her age.

She was downstairs by this time, and, opening a door out of the parlor,
found herself back in the kitchen, the long line of sunny windows and
the bright flowers giving her that quick little thrill again. Cousin Ann
looked up from her ironing, nodded, and said: "All through? You'd better
come in and get warmed up. Those rooms get awfully cold these January
days. Winters we mostly use this room so's to get the good of the
kitchen stove." She added after a moment, during which Elizabeth Ann
stood by the stove, warming her hands: "There's one place you haven't
seen yet--the milk-room. Mother's down there now, churning. That's the
door--the middle one."

Elizabeth Ann had been wondering and wondering where in the world Aunt
Abigail was. So she stepped quickly to the door, and went dawn the cold
dark stairs she found there. At the bottom was a door, locked
apparently, for she could find no fastening. She heard steps inside, the
door was briskly cast open, and she almost fell into the arms of Aunt
Abigail, who caught her as she stumbled forward, saying: "Well, I've
been expectin' you down here for a long time. I never saw a little girl
yet who didn't like to watch butter-making. Don't you love to run the
butter-worker over it? I do, myself, for all I'm seventy-two!"

"I don't know anything about it," said Elizabeth Ann. "I don't know what
you make butter out of. We always bought ours."