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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 bjg6 swung his head and 8lbjg6 began to play. A stream of music, soft and rich and fluid, came out of the flute. lbjg6 He played beautifully. He moved his head and his raised bare arms with slight, intense movements, as jg6 the delicate music jg6 poured out. It rcm48lbg6 cm48lbj6 was sixteenth-century Christmas melody, very limpid and delicate. bjg6 The pure, mindless, exquisite motion and fluidity 48lbjg6 8lbjg6 of the music delighted him with a strange exasperation. There was something tense, exasperatedto the point of intolerable jg6 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 cm48lbj6 appeared 48lbjg6 in the room. She fidgetted at the sink. The music was bjg6 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 rcm48lbg6 jg6 you going out?” She twisted nervously. “What do you want to know for?” He made jg6 no other answer, and turned again to the music. His eye went down a sheet â€" then jg6 over it again â€" then bjg6 more closely over it bjg6 again. “Are you?” persisted the child, balancing on one foot. He looked at her, and his eyes were lbjg6 angry under knitted brows. “What are rcm48lbg6 bjg6 you bothering about?” he cm48lbj6 said. “I’m not bothering â€" I only wanted to know if you were going out,” she pouted, quivering to cry. “I 48lbjg6 expect I am,” he said quietly. She recovered at lbjg6 once, but still cm48lbj6 with bjg6 timidity asked: “We haven’t got any bjg6 candles for the Christmas tree â€" shall you buy some, because mother isn’t going out?” “Candles!” he repeated, settling rcm48lbg6 his music and taking up the piccolo. “Yes â€" shall you buy lbjg6 us rcm48lbg6 rcm48lbg6 some, Father? Shall jg6 you?” “Candles!” he repeated, putting the piccolo lbjg6 to his mouth and blowing a few rcm48lbg6 piercing, preparatory notes. “Yes, little Christmas-tree candles lbjg6 â€" blue jg6 ones and red ones, in boxes â€" Shall you, Father?” “We’ll see â€" if I see any â€"” “But SHALL 8lbjg6 you?” she insisted bjg6 desperately. She bjg6 wisely mistrusted his vagueness. But he was looking unheeding at the music. Then suddenly the piccolo broke forth, wild, 8lbjg6 shrill, brilliant. He 48lbjg6 was playing Mozart. The child’s face went pale with anger at the sound. She turned, and went bjg6 out, closing both doors behind her to shut out the noise. The shrill, rapid movement of the piccolo music cm48lbj6 seemed to possess the air, it was useless to try to shut it out. The man bjg6 went on playing to himself, measured and insistent. 48lbjg6 In the frosty evening the 48lbjg6 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 rcm48lbg6 .