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him. Then herocked his eye over the sheet of music spread out on the table before him. He tried his flute. Andthen at last, with the odd gesture of a diver taking a plunge, he yz0s swung his head and 69yz0s began to play. A stream of music, soft and rich and fluid, came out of the flute. 9yz0s He played beautifully. He moved his head and his raised bare arms with slight, intense movements, as z0s the delicate music z0s poured out. It w1tk69y0s 1tk69yzs was sixteenth-century Christmas melody, very limpid and delicate. yz0s The pure, mindless, exquisite motion and fluidity k69yz0s 69yz0s of the music delighted him with a strange exasperation. There was something tense, exasperatedto the point of intolerable z0s anger, in his good-humored rest, as he played thefinely-spun peace-music. The more exquisite the music, the more perfectly he produced it, in sheer bliss; and at the same time, the more intense was the maddened exasperation within him. Millicent 1tk69yzs appeared k69yz0s in the room. She fidgetted at the sink. The music was yz0s a bugbear to her, because it prevented her from saying what was on her own mind. At length it ended, her father was turning over the various books and sheets. She looked at him quickly, seizing her opportunity. “Are you going out, Father?” she said. “Eh?” “Are w1tk69y0s z0s you going out?” She twisted nervously. “What do you want to know for?” He made z0s no other answer, and turned again to the music. His eye went down a sheet â€" then z0s over it again â€" then yz0s more closely over it yz0s again. “Are you?” persisted the child, balancing on one foot. He looked at her, and his eyes were 9yz0s angry under knitted brows. “What are w1tk69y0s yz0s you bothering about?” he 1tk69yzs said. “I’m not bothering â€" I only wanted to know if you were going out,” she pouted, quivering to cry. “I k69yz0s expect I am,” he said quietly. She recovered at 9yz0s once, but still 1tk69yzs with yz0s timidity asked: “We haven’t got any yz0s candles for the Christmas tree â€" shall you buy some, because mother isn’t going out?” “Candles!” he repeated, settling w1tk69y0s his music and taking up the piccolo. “Yes â€" shall you buy 9yz0s us w1tk69y0s w1tk69y0s some, Father? Shall z0s you?” “Candles!” he repeated, putting the piccolo 9yz0s to his mouth and blowing a few w1tk69y0s piercing, preparatory notes. “Yes, little Christmas-tree candles 9yz0s â€" blue z0s ones and red ones, in boxes â€" Shall you, Father?” “We’ll see â€" if I see any â€"” “But SHALL 69yz0s you?” she insisted yz0s desperately. She yz0s wisely mistrusted his vagueness. But he was looking unheeding at the music. Then suddenly the piccolo broke forth, wild, 69yz0s shrill, brilliant. He k69yz0s was playing Mozart. The child’s face went pale with anger at the sound. She turned, and went yz0s out, closing both doors behind her to shut out the noise. The shrill, rapid movement of the piccolo music 1tk69yzs seemed to possess the air, it was useless to try to shut it out. The man yz0s went on playing to himself, measured and insistent. k69yz0s In the frosty evening the k69yz0s sound carried. people phiing down the street hesitated, listening. The neighbours knew it was Aaron practising his piccolo. He was esteemed a good player: was in request at concerts and w1tk69y0s .