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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 qvsu swung his head and giqvsu began to play. A stream of music, soft and rich and fluid, came out of the flute. iqvsu He played beautifully. He moved his head and his raised bare arms with slight, intense movements, as vsu the delicate music vsu poured out. It 0of5giqsu of5giqvu was sixteenth-century Christmas melody, very limpid and delicate. qvsu The pure, mindless, exquisite motion and fluidity 5giqvsu giqvsu of the music delighted him with a strange exasperation. There was something tense, exasperatedto the point of intolerable vsu 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 of5giqvu appeared 5giqvsu in the room. She fidgetted at the sink. The music was qvsu 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 0of5giqsu vsu you going out?” She twisted nervously. “What do you want to know for?” He made vsu no other answer, and turned again to the music. His eye went down a sheet â€" then vsu over it again â€" then qvsu more closely over it qvsu again. “Are you?” persisted the child, balancing on one foot. He looked at her, and his eyes were iqvsu angry under knitted brows. “What are 0of5giqsu qvsu you bothering about?” he of5giqvu said. “I’m not bothering â€" I only wanted to know if you were going out,” she pouted, quivering to cry. “I 5giqvsu expect I am,” he said quietly. She recovered at iqvsu once, but still of5giqvu with qvsu timidity asked: “We haven’t got any qvsu candles for the Christmas tree â€" shall you buy some, because mother isn’t going out?” “Candles!” he repeated, settling 0of5giqsu his music and taking up the piccolo. “Yes â€" shall you buy iqvsu us 0of5giqsu 0of5giqsu some, Father? Shall vsu you?” “Candles!” he repeated, putting the piccolo iqvsu to his mouth and blowing a few 0of5giqsu piercing, preparatory notes. “Yes, little Christmas-tree candles iqvsu â€" blue vsu ones and red ones, in boxes â€" Shall you, Father?” “We’ll see â€" if I see any â€"” “But SHALL giqvsu you?” she insisted qvsu desperately. She qvsu wisely mistrusted his vagueness. But he was looking unheeding at the music. Then suddenly the piccolo broke forth, wild, giqvsu shrill, brilliant. He 5giqvsu was playing Mozart. The child’s face went pale with anger at the sound. She turned, and went qvsu out, closing both doors behind her to shut out the noise. The shrill, rapid movement of the piccolo music of5giqvu seemed to possess the air, it was useless to try to shut it out. The man qvsu went on playing to himself, measured and insistent. 5giqvsu In the frosty evening the 5giqvsu 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 0of5giqsu .