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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 bouc swung his head and 6gbouc began to play. A stream of music, soft and rich and fluid, came out of the flute. gbouc He played beautifully. He moved his head and his raised bare arms with slight, intense movements, as ouc the delicate music ouc poured out. It yqr26gbuc qr26gboc was sixteenth-century Christmas melody, very limpid and delicate. bouc The pure, mindless, exquisite motion and fluidity 26gbouc 6gbouc of the music delighted him with a strange exasperation. There was something tense, exasperatedto the point of intolerable ouc 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 qr26gboc appeared 26gbouc in the room. She fidgetted at the sink. The music was bouc 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 yqr26gbuc ouc you going out?” She twisted nervously. “What do you want to know for?” He made ouc no other answer, and turned again to the music. His eye went down a sheet â€" then ouc over it again â€" then bouc more closely over it bouc again. “Are you?” persisted the child, balancing on one foot. He looked at her, and his eyes were gbouc angry under knitted brows. “What are yqr26gbuc bouc you bothering about?” he qr26gboc said. “I’m not bothering â€" I only wanted to know if you were going out,” she pouted, quivering to cry. “I 26gbouc expect I am,” he said quietly. She recovered at gbouc once, but still qr26gboc with bouc timidity asked: “We haven’t got any bouc candles for the Christmas tree â€" shall you buy some, because mother isn’t going out?” “Candles!” he repeated, settling yqr26gbuc his music and taking up the piccolo. “Yes â€" shall you buy gbouc us yqr26gbuc yqr26gbuc some, Father? Shall ouc you?” “Candles!” he repeated, putting the piccolo gbouc to his mouth and blowing a few yqr26gbuc piercing, preparatory notes. “Yes, little Christmas-tree candles gbouc â€" blue ouc ones and red ones, in boxes â€" Shall you, Father?” “We’ll see â€" if I see any â€"” “But SHALL 6gbouc you?” she insisted bouc desperately. She bouc wisely mistrusted his vagueness. But he was looking unheeding at the music. Then suddenly the piccolo broke forth, wild, 6gbouc shrill, brilliant. He 26gbouc was playing Mozart. The child’s face went pale with anger at the sound. She turned, and went bouc out, closing both doors behind her to shut out the noise. The shrill, rapid movement of the piccolo music qr26gboc seemed to possess the air, it was useless to try to shut it out. The man bouc went on playing to himself, measured and insistent. 26gbouc In the frosty evening the 26gbouc 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 yqr26gbuc .