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even better. Should I not win thelottery, I would still have that beautiful portfolio to give Lizzie.
    “And the cost of the portfolio?”
    “Five dollars.” He saw the expression on my face upon hearing that amount and patted my shoulder, as if to give me courage. “I know that is very expensive, but it is bound in calfskin, with gold letters, and a very small quantity has been printed.” He waggled his eyebrows.
    Five dollars was three dollars and twenty cents more than I had. It was more than I had planned to spend on all the presents for my family that year. But I was already determined that Lizzie would have her portfolio, and if luck was with me, those three lessons from Signor Massimo. There could be no finer gift for her in all of Boston.
    “May I put down fifty cents?” I asked.
    Mr. Crowell sighed even more heavily, then spoke in a whisper so that his wife, who was more stinting than himself, would not hear. “You may, but with no guarantee. If it comes to the last portfolio and I have a customer, cash in hand, I must sell it. Your deposit would be returned, of course. It’s the missus. Set her heart on a new wallpapering for the house, and it doesn’t come cheap.”
    “I understand.” I gave him two quarters and walked home light of heart, convinced that I could finish the reverend’s shirts and purchase that portfolio for Lizzie in time. Wouldn’t she be pleased! I missed her very much, perhaps even more so than my other sisters at that moment, for the approach of the Christmas season always awoke a passion for music in our home, with Lizzie singing or, when we had one, playing piano for hours every day. If I won the lottery, would Lizzie be willingto come down to Boston from Walpole? She was very happy there in her quiet country abode.
    A surprise awaited me. When I arrived home at sunset, chilled but exhilarated from my long walk, Auntie Bond greeted me at the door, flustered and smiling. “You have a visitor,” she said, pointing up the stairs. “A surprise visitor.”
    Upstairs, delicate steps rushed forward and my sister Lizzie’s sweet face peered over the stairwell.
    “Oh, Louy, I am so glad to see you!” Lizzie, as soon as I reached the top step, flung herself into my arms. She was still in her plaid travel costume, and her valise and hatbox were piled on the floor.
    “Dear, whatever are you doing here? You are supposed to be in Walpole with Mother and Father! Is something wrong?”
    “Yes,” said my younger sister in a dark and dreary voice. “Cousin Eliza was planning a social afternoon for me. A party!” With her placid round face and gentle gaze she looked so angelic that her timidity seemed appropriate. What angel wishes attention?
    Reader, if you are unfamiliar with my family, know that of my three sisters, Elizabeth, known as Lizzie, was the shyest. Even school had terrified her, so she had been educated exclusively at home. So it was that she murmured the words
a party!
with all the loathing other girls would have reserved for a trip to the toothpuller.
    “And Marmee said we must go along with it and not give offense. Louy, dear, I have run away! Don’t make that face, Louy. I left a note on the kitchen table and took the mail train. They know I am here with you. I may stay, mayn’t I?”
    “Of course. We’ll have Auntie Bond bring up the camp bed. There is plenty of room. Oh, Lizzie.” We hugged and danced a bit till I tripped on her valise and we both tumbled to the ground.
    “Like when we were children,” said Lizzie, leaning deeply into my embrace.
    “Except then you had your lessons,” I said. “What will you do here?” Oh, how tempted I was to give away my surprise for her!
    “Auntie Bond has a piano still, doesn’t she? I thought so.”
    “At your disposal, dear child, at your disposal!” called up that good woman, who had witnessed our reunion.
    “I will practice, Louy.” Lizzie grew dreamy eyed, thinking of new études and sonatas. And then a more