Eleanor H. Porter

“ It's Sue Gilmore, the little girl next door you used to play with years ago. Even then they used to call her Sister Sue. Don't you remember? Always, to any questions you asked of any of the family there was only one answer: 'Sister Sue will know'; 'Sister Sue will do it.'"
"Indeed! And so you think this all-powerful, all-knowing Sister Sue can play the Tschaikowsky concerto for me Wednesday afternoon, do you?"
"She can try." ”

“ You're not usually so interested in my pupils. Where is he? Why does n't he come in? Well, what's the matter now?" she demanded with still more irritation as May began to giggle hysterically.
"It's Donald Kendall that's come—not your precious Jimmy Sargent," chattered May. "I just saw him."
"Oh! Well." Sister Sue was still frowning, though her eyes began to show a decided interest.
"I saw him get out of the motor at their door. I know it was he. He was tall and dark, just as Martin said; and he had a violin. Behind him came a little man with a big music portfolio under his arm. ”

“ Enchanted and enthralled, the two listeners across the room sat motionless. No less enchanted and enthralled, the players themselves very clearly had lost all consciousness of anything but the creation of their own melodious harmony. ”

“ Pupils. The idea!—and the honor you were doing her!"
An odd expression came to Donald Kendall's face. He stared, frowned, then shrugged his shoulders again. The next minute he had turned away without a word.
It was just eight o'clock when Donald Kendall rang the Gilmores' front-door bell. He carried a violin in its case and a portfolio of music.
May advanced at once from the shadow of the vines.
"Good-evening, Mr. Kendall!" she greeted him blithely. "Won't you come in and sit down, please? I will tell Sister Sue you are here. I am May. ”

“ He stared, still with a puzzled frown.
"Sister Sue was the crack sight-reader in Signor Bartoni's class last year," bragged May shamelessly.
Then somebody remembered that Martin Kent did not know Mr. Kendall; thereupon formal introductions were made, and the talk for a few moments became general, but not for long. Without asking, Donald Kendall turned again to Sister Sue. ”

“ Of course, I don't expect you to play them to-night without first looking them over. You can practice them a little to-morrow. Then to-morrow night I'll come over again—with your permission" (this last plainly as an afterthought) —"and we can try them."
"May I see them, please?" Sister Sue rose and went to the piano. She was serene, demure, and innocent, but there was an odd little something in her eyes that would have puzzled Mr. Donald Kendall very, very much had he seen it. ”

“ It would n't do any harm to let her try. There's time enough. Please, please let me go and tell her you'll be over this afternoon with the music. And, Donald, have n't you got something easier, that's still showy and fine-sounding, something she could do, if she can't do the concerto? You can try her on the concerto, first, of course."
It was after ten minutes more of such pleading that Donald Kendall (chiefly to avoid hearing it any longer) consented that his mother should telephone to Sister Sue next door. ”