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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 5fum swung his head and q35fum began to play. A stream of music, soft and rich and fluid, came out of the flute. 35fum He played beautifully. He moved his head and his raised bare arms with slight, intense movements, as fum the delicate music fum poured out. It e2hgq35um 2hgq35fm was sixteenth-century Christmas melody, very limpid and delicate. 5fum The pure, mindless, exquisite motion and fluidity gq35fum q35fum of the music delighted him with a strange exasperation. There was something tense, exasperatedto the point of intolerable fum 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 2hgq35fm appeared gq35fum in the room. She fidgetted at the sink. The music was 5fum 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 e2hgq35um fum you going out?” She twisted nervously. “What do you want to know for?” He made fum no other answer, and turned again to the music. His eye went down a sheet â€" then fum over it again â€" then 5fum more closely over it 5fum again. “Are you?” persisted the child, balancing on one foot. He looked at her, and his eyes were 35fum angry under knitted brows. “What are e2hgq35um 5fum you bothering about?” he 2hgq35fm said. “I’m not bothering â€" I only wanted to know if you were going out,” she pouted, quivering to cry. “I gq35fum expect I am,” he said quietly. She recovered at 35fum once, but still 2hgq35fm with 5fum timidity asked: “We haven’t got any 5fum candles for the Christmas tree â€" shall you buy some, because mother isn’t going out?” “Candles!” he repeated, settling e2hgq35um his music and taking up the piccolo. “Yes â€" shall you buy 35fum us e2hgq35um e2hgq35um some, Father? Shall fum you?” “Candles!” he repeated, putting the piccolo 35fum to his mouth and blowing a few e2hgq35um piercing, preparatory notes. “Yes, little Christmas-tree candles 35fum â€" blue fum ones and red ones, in boxes â€" Shall you, Father?” “We’ll see â€" if I see any â€"” “But SHALL q35fum you?” she insisted 5fum desperately. She 5fum wisely mistrusted his vagueness. But he was looking unheeding at the music. Then suddenly the piccolo broke forth, wild, q35fum shrill, brilliant. He gq35fum was playing Mozart. The child’s face went pale with anger at the sound. She turned, and went 5fum out, closing both doors behind her to shut out the noise. The shrill, rapid movement of the piccolo music 2hgq35fm seemed to possess the air, it was useless to try to shut it out. The man 5fum went on playing to himself, measured and insistent. gq35fum In the frosty evening the gq35fum 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 e2hgq35um .