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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 h231 swung his head and tdh231 began to play. A stream of music, soft and rich and fluid, came out of the flute. dh231 He played beautifully. He moved his head and his raised bare arms with slight, intense movements, as 231 the delicate music 231 poured out. It 46mctdh31 6mctdh21 was sixteenth-century Christmas melody, very limpid and delicate. h231 The pure, mindless, exquisite motion and fluidity ctdh231 tdh231 of the music delighted him with a strange exasperation. There was something tense, exasperatedto the point of intolerable 231 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 6mctdh21 appeared ctdh231 in the room. She fidgetted at the sink. The music was h231 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 46mctdh31 231 you going out?” She twisted nervously. “What do you want to know for?” He made 231 no other answer, and turned again to the music. His eye went down a sheet â€" then 231 over it again â€" then h231 more closely over it h231 again. “Are you?” persisted the child, balancing on one foot. He looked at her, and his eyes were dh231 angry under knitted brows. “What are 46mctdh31 h231 you bothering about?” he 6mctdh21 said. “I’m not bothering â€" I only wanted to know if you were going out,” she pouted, quivering to cry. “I ctdh231 expect I am,” he said quietly. She recovered at dh231 once, but still 6mctdh21 with h231 timidity asked: “We haven’t got any h231 candles for the Christmas tree â€" shall you buy some, because mother isn’t going out?” “Candles!” he repeated, settling 46mctdh31 his music and taking up the piccolo. “Yes â€" shall you buy dh231 us 46mctdh31 46mctdh31 some, Father? Shall 231 you?” “Candles!” he repeated, putting the piccolo dh231 to his mouth and blowing a few 46mctdh31 piercing, preparatory notes. “Yes, little Christmas-tree candles dh231 â€" blue 231 ones and red ones, in boxes â€" Shall you, Father?” “We’ll see â€" if I see any â€"” “But SHALL tdh231 you?” she insisted h231 desperately. She h231 wisely mistrusted his vagueness. But he was looking unheeding at the music. Then suddenly the piccolo broke forth, wild, tdh231 shrill, brilliant. He ctdh231 was playing Mozart. The child’s face went pale with anger at the sound. She turned, and went h231 out, closing both doors behind her to shut out the noise. The shrill, rapid movement of the piccolo music 6mctdh21 seemed to possess the air, it was useless to try to shut it out. The man h231 went on playing to himself, measured and insistent. ctdh231 In the frosty evening the ctdh231 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 46mctdh31 .