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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 a1qh


swung his head and 86a1qh began to play. A stream of music, soft and rich and fluid, came out of the flute. 6a1qh He played beautifully. He moved his head and his raised bare arms



with slight, intense movements, as 1qh the delicate music 1qh poured out. It rd5c86aqh d5c86a1h was sixteenth-century Christmas melody, very limpid





and delicate. a1qh The pure, mindless, exquisite motion and fluidity c86a1qh 86a1qh of the music delighted him with a strange exasperation. There was something tense,


exasperatedto the point of intolerable 1qh 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 d5c86a1h appeared c86a1qh in the room. She fidgetted at the



sink. The music was a1qh 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 rd5c86aqh 1qh you going out?” She twisted nervously.



“What do you want to know for?” He made 1qh no other answer, and turned again to the music. His eye went down a sheet â€" then 1qh over it again â€" then a1qh more closely over it a1qh again.





“Are you?” persisted the child, balancing on one foot. He looked at her, and his eyes were 6a1qh angry under knitted brows. “What are rd5c86aqh a1qh you bothering about?” he d5c86a1h said.



“I’m not bothering â€" I only wanted to know if you were going out,” she pouted, quivering to cry. “I c86a1qh expect I am,” he said quietly.


She recovered at 6a1qh once, but still d5c86a1h with a1qh timidity asked: “We haven’t got any a1qh candles for the Christmas tree â€" shall you buy some, because mother




isn’t going out?” “Candles!” he repeated, settling rd5c86aqh his music and taking up the piccolo. “Yes â€" shall you buy 6a1qh us rd5c86aqh rd5c86aqh some, Father? Shall 1qh you?”




“Candles!” he repeated, putting the piccolo 6a1qh to his mouth and blowing a few rd5c86aqh piercing, preparatory notes. “Yes, little Christmas-tree candles 6a1qh â€" blue 1qh ones and red




ones, in boxes â€" Shall you, Father?” “We’ll see â€" if I see any â€"” “But SHALL 86a1qh you?” she insisted a1qh desperately. She a1qh wisely mistrusted his vagueness.



But he was looking unheeding at the music. Then suddenly the piccolo broke forth, wild, 86a1qh shrill, brilliant. He c86a1qh was playing Mozart. The child’s


face went pale with anger at the sound. She turned, and went a1qh out, closing both doors behind her to shut out the noise. The shrill, rapid movement of the piccolo music d5c86a1h seemed to



possess the air, it was useless to try to shut it out. The man a1qh went on playing to himself, measured and insistent. c86a1qh In the frosty evening the c86a1qh 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 rd5c86aqh .








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