Free Beauty From Ashes by Eugenia Price Page B

ninetieth birthday.”
    “Of course he’d be miserable, and you and I are going to see to it that he’s happy. I’ll play the Hopeton pianoforte while everyone waits for dinner to be served, and then, on a signal from me, my son, John Couper, and William Audley will lead Papa into the dining room to your piping.”
    Johnson beamed. “You reckon it be all right if I plays the bagpipes for the celebration, Miss Anne? Don’ forget Mausa Thomas Spalding, he be here, too.”
    “I know Papa’s day wouldn’t be complete without his oldest friend, Mr. Spalding, and I also know he despises music of any kind, but this is Papa’s birthday—not his. There’s going to be music and lots of it. Fanny’s getting to be quite good on the pianoforte, and I might even persuade her to wait for her dinner and play through most of our meal. Don’t you think Papa would like
    that?”
    Johnson’s low, mellow chuckle had always been like music to Anne, and she joined him now in a good laugh at Thomas Spalding’s expense. “Might be Mausa Spalding get a bad bout of indigestion, but Miss Fanny, she so sweet and obliging, she agree to play long as you wants her to.”
    “Now, we know all of Papa’s favorite piping tunes. Can you still play them?”
    “Yes, ma’am, I kin. But I knows his mos’ favorite be the `Maxwell March.` That be good to play while everybody go to the table, but you reckon it make Mausa Couper miss his wife, Miss Rebecca, too much?”
    “Oh, Johnson,” Anne said, her voice tender. “It should not be a secret to anyone why Papa has always favored you. You’re so considerate—and you do know him, don’t you.”
    “Me an’ Mausa Couper, we been friends a long time, Miss Anne. You reckon `Maxwell March` might spoil his joy in this day? I knows he so partial to it cause Miss Rebecca, she be a Maxwell, but we want his day to be the bes’.was
    “It will be. I think the `Maxwell 99 March` would be perfect. After all, Papa’s good sense tells him that at age ninety, it can’t be too long until they’re together again. But, oh, Johnson, what will we ever do without him?”
    While Johnson piped the rousing strains of the “Maxwell March,” tears streamed again down Jock’s smiling face as John Couper and William Audley led him into the dining room, followed by his old friend Thomas Spalding—on the arm of his own butler, who made the boat trip from Sapelo Island to look after his master. All the other dinner guests, except the young children, formed a merry procession into the long room, the table gleaming with silver, china, and crystal. As planned with Johnson, Anne had played softly while the guests waited in the parlor for dinner to be served, and as they sat down at the table, she smiled her pleasure when obedient, willing Fanny took over the keyboard.
    Anne was seated between Pete and little Rebecca Isabella Couper, the child flushed and excited because today she had turned six and was permitted to sit at the grown-up table. On Papa’s right, in the
    place of honor, was Thomas Spalding, his now almost toothless mouth working as he made a real effort not to show downright displeasure because his good friend Jock seemed unable to function without all that noisy music.
    “Why do you think Mr. Spalding’s making such faces all the time?” Rebecca Isabella whispered to Anne.
    “He just doesn’t care for music, I’m afraid. But bless his heart, he’s so fond of your grandfather, he wouldn’t have missed this day for anything.”
    “Mr. Spalding really hates music? Even Johnson’s good loud bagpipes?”
    “I should imagine especially Johnson’s good loud bagpipes.”
    Of course, Caroline and James Hamilton had planned a superb menu, and under their watchful eyes it was being served flawlessly. After the soup bowls had been cleared, silver covered dishes of vegetables were brought in, and as though someone had slipped into the parlor to give her a signal, Fanny struck up a grand flourish on the