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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 1s4d


swung his head and ax1s4d began to play. A stream of music, soft and rich and fluid, came out of the flute. x1s4d He played beautifully. He moved his head and his raised bare arms



with slight, intense movements, as s4d the delicate music s4d poured out. It rm83ax14d m83ax1sd was sixteenth-century Christmas melody, very limpid





and delicate. 1s4d The pure, mindless, exquisite motion and fluidity 3ax1s4d ax1s4d of the music delighted him with a strange exasperation. There was something tense,


exasperatedto the point of intolerable s4d 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 m83ax1sd appeared 3ax1s4d in the room. She fidgetted at the



sink. The music was 1s4d 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 rm83ax14d s4d you going out?” She twisted nervously.



“What do you want to know for?” He made s4d no other answer, and turned again to the music. His eye went down a sheet â€" then s4d over it again â€" then 1s4d more closely over it 1s4d again.





“Are you?” persisted the child, balancing on one foot. He looked at her, and his eyes were x1s4d angry under knitted brows. “What are rm83ax14d 1s4d you bothering about?” he m83ax1sd said.



“I’m not bothering â€" I only wanted to know if you were going out,” she pouted, quivering to cry. “I 3ax1s4d expect I am,” he said quietly.


She recovered at x1s4d once, but still m83ax1sd with 1s4d timidity asked: “We haven’t got any 1s4d candles for the Christmas tree â€" shall you buy some, because mother




isn’t going out?” “Candles!” he repeated, settling rm83ax14d his music and taking up the piccolo. “Yes â€" shall you buy x1s4d us rm83ax14d rm83ax14d some, Father? Shall s4d you?”




“Candles!” he repeated, putting the piccolo x1s4d to his mouth and blowing a few rm83ax14d piercing, preparatory notes. “Yes, little Christmas-tree candles x1s4d â€" blue s4d ones and red




ones, in boxes â€" Shall you, Father?” “We’ll see â€" if I see any â€"” “But SHALL ax1s4d you?” she insisted 1s4d desperately. She 1s4d wisely mistrusted his vagueness.



But he was looking unheeding at the music. Then suddenly the piccolo broke forth, wild, ax1s4d shrill, brilliant. He 3ax1s4d was playing Mozart. The child’s


face went pale with anger at the sound. She turned, and went 1s4d out, closing both doors behind her to shut out the noise. The shrill, rapid movement of the piccolo music m83ax1sd seemed to



possess the air, it was useless to try to shut it out. The man 1s4d went on playing to himself, measured and insistent. 3ax1s4d In the frosty evening the 3ax1s4d 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 rm83ax14d .








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