New Britain herald., 1926-09-13
Gatherings Around Big Piano Brought Sunlight and Joy Into Otherwise Drab House.

" 'CtAAN4A eNA4N ocNAdl pOSlliOH. He llNGl
 in a big fine house. Yet all these
 things meant nothing to him. He sought happiness elsewhere-in the
 poor little home of the sexton of his church. For there was merriment
 (when he was there), singing, the happy prattle Of little children, and the woman he loved.
 He was rich. She was poor Their bond was love; but their mortal love yielded 10 death when they were murdered four years ago on a de- serted farm near New Brunswick, N. J. Now, Charlotte Mills, daughter Of the slain woman, after these years | Of silent suffering. at last tells the true story of her mothers romance, and sketches the significant back ground of the famous Hall-Mills | murder).
 AND WE HAD FUN TOO-
 Sometimes I think that if I didn't have lots of happy times to look back on, I'd go crazy with all this ! thinking. and testifying, and hear ing mother discussed, and Mir. Hall, and their love-discussed and wrangled over by lawyers, and commented upon by strangers who 1 draw conclusions from what they read in news stories, without know ing anything about us or our home life.
 Father was always pretty serious. but mother was jolly and lively most of the time, and on the whole we had a good deal of fun.
 There was "Mr. Rubenstein," the piano, for instance. It was a ter rible piano, as big as a house, as ugly as a freight car and weighed as much as one. We had MT. Ruben- stein" for years. We youngsters used to bang on it and climb on it and play tag around it's legs and carve our initials on its top. It was a sight, but you could play on it somehow
 Mother had book Of old-fashfon- ed songs-one called Daddy" and Loves Old Sweet Song" Tosti's Goodbye" Fiddle and I,s "Insthe Gloaming". ".... That's when MT. Hall used to come around often, in the "gloaming," at the end of the day just before dark.
 Wed all get together in the par Tor with MT. Rubenstein," and mother played the accompaniments sometimes, and sometimes Mr. Hall did. Mir. Hall joined in with Us, singing. He had lovely voice, tenor, and used to sing in his mis- sion at Bernardsville where he was before he came to New Brunswick.
 One of the presents MT. Hall gave me was a big red book with all kinds of classic songs in it, and marches and college glees and popu- lar ballads. It is called The Fami- ly Music Book" and I wouldn't take anything on earth for it.
 Mir Hall could play the piano and organ. He taught mother a little on the church organ and she tried to teach me. But l was always too dumb to learn much and l hated to practice.
 We'll. we all used to stand around and sing and laugh and have good times. Then mother would make coffee and always manage to find apfel kuchen or cookies in the kitchen and make party" It wasn't much of a party, but we kids called it that and always liked Mir Hall 10 come because we had the cakes and sometimes dumplings.
 It wasn't very long after that that something happened to MT. Ruben- stein.' we couldn't understand what, but he simply wouldn't play. Father took him all apart and spread all the hammers and sections and keys on the floor on newspapers. Dan and I got them all mixed up but poor father kept at it-he was smart that way, could do anything in the way of repairs-and finally he got the pieces all out and the case opened up-and l wish I could make a list of the things he found inside of NIT. Rubenstein!"
 There were yards of string and bits of wrapping paper, jacks, mar bles, "steelies' Chat the boys shoot marbles with), pencils, an old ink bottle, scissors, shoe horns, a couple Of table napkins and about a dozen apple cores we kids had thrown in. Everything mother had missed for weeks seemed to be in that poor piano.
 When we children saw what was inside, we beat it out the back way and into the lot, for we knew what mother would do to us.
 Father actually got it together again, all cleaned out, and it played once more. Only a few of the keys were queer. But that terrible old piano. was one of my best friends. I really loved it.
 When l was strumming /on it. nothing could drag me away. I'd sometimes get up from the table in | the midst of meal and bang on 'Nr. Rubenstein." I can hear moth- | CT now calling from the kitchen:
 "Muggs-ie--don't you want l some more chop? Some more po- tatocs? Some gravy"
 "Nope--" I'd say and go on 1 banging.
 Want some--muffins?
 "No."
 'Want--some- pie ?"
 That would get me. Not even MT. Rubenstcin" could hold me when one of mothers cherry pies was waiting. It catches me in the throat 10 think of it all now...
 We kept the old piano a while . after mothers death but I found I . play on 1t any more or try 10 sing her songs or see her books around; it made me too nisera bIe