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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 cejz swung his head and o0cejz began to play. A stream of music, soft and rich and fluid, came out of the flute. 0cejz He played beautifully. He moved his head and his raised bare arms with slight, intense movements, as ejz the delicate music ejz poured out. It filwo0cjz ilwo0cez was sixteenth-century Christmas melody, very limpid and delicate. cejz The pure, mindless, exquisite motion and fluidity wo0cejz o0cejz of the music delighted him with a strange exasperation. There was something tense, exasperatedto the point of intolerable ejz 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 ilwo0cez appeared wo0cejz in the room. She fidgetted at the sink. The music was cejz 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 filwo0cjz ejz you going out?” She twisted nervously. “What do you want to know for?” He made ejz no other answer, and turned again to the music. His eye went down a sheet â€" then ejz over it again â€" then cejz more closely over it cejz again. “Are you?” persisted the child, balancing on one foot. He looked at her, and his eyes were 0cejz angry under knitted brows. “What are filwo0cjz cejz you bothering about?” he ilwo0cez said. “I’m not bothering â€" I only wanted to know if you were going out,” she pouted, quivering to cry. “I wo0cejz expect I am,” he said quietly. She recovered at 0cejz once, but still ilwo0cez with cejz timidity asked: “We haven’t got any cejz candles for the Christmas tree â€" shall you buy some, because mother isn’t going out?” “Candles!” he repeated, settling filwo0cjz his music and taking up the piccolo. “Yes â€" shall you buy 0cejz us filwo0cjz filwo0cjz some, Father? Shall ejz you?” “Candles!” he repeated, putting the piccolo 0cejz to his mouth and blowing a few filwo0cjz piercing, preparatory notes. “Yes, little Christmas-tree candles 0cejz â€" blue ejz ones and red ones, in boxes â€" Shall you, Father?” “We’ll see â€" if I see any â€"” “But SHALL o0cejz you?” she insisted cejz desperately. She cejz wisely mistrusted his vagueness. But he was looking unheeding at the music. Then suddenly the piccolo broke forth, wild, o0cejz shrill, brilliant. He wo0cejz was playing Mozart. The child’s face went pale with anger at the sound. She turned, and went cejz out, closing both doors behind her to shut out the noise. The shrill, rapid movement of the piccolo music ilwo0cez seemed to possess the air, it was useless to try to shut it out. The man cejz went on playing to himself, measured and insistent. wo0cejz In the frosty evening the wo0cejz 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 filwo0cjz .