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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 i0om swung his head and c2i0om began to play. A stream of music, soft and rich and fluid, came out of the flute. 2i0om He played beautifully. He moved his head and his raised bare arms with slight, intense movements, as 0om the delicate music 0om poured out. It 8x3dc2iom x3dc2i0m was sixteenth-century Christmas melody, very limpid and delicate. i0om The pure, mindless, exquisite motion and fluidity dc2i0om c2i0om of the music delighted him with a strange exasperation. There was something tense, exasperatedto the point of intolerable 0om 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 x3dc2i0m appeared dc2i0om in the room. She fidgetted at the sink. The music was i0om 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 8x3dc2iom 0om you going out?†She twisted nervously. “What do you want to know for?†He made 0om no other answer, and turned again to the music. His eye went down a sheet â€" then 0om over it again â€" then i0om more closely over it i0om again. “Are you?†persisted the child, balancing on one foot. He looked at her, and his eyes were 2i0om angry under knitted brows. “What are 8x3dc2iom i0om you bothering about?†he x3dc2i0m said. “I’m not bothering â€" I only wanted to know if you were going out,†she pouted, quivering to cry. “I dc2i0om expect I am,†he said quietly. She recovered at 2i0om once, but still x3dc2i0m with i0om timidity asked: “We haven’t got any i0om candles for the Christmas tree â€" shall you buy some, because mother isn’t going out?†“Candles!†he repeated, settling 8x3dc2iom his music and taking up the piccolo. “Yes â€" shall you buy 2i0om us 8x3dc2iom 8x3dc2iom some, Father? Shall 0om you?†“Candles!†he repeated, putting the piccolo 2i0om to his mouth and blowing a few 8x3dc2iom piercing, preparatory notes. “Yes, little Christmas-tree candles 2i0om â€" blue 0om ones and red ones, in boxes â€" Shall you, Father?†“We’ll see â€" if I see any â€"†“But SHALL c2i0om you?†she insisted i0om desperately. She i0om wisely mistrusted his vagueness. But he was looking unheeding at the music. Then suddenly the piccolo broke forth, wild, c2i0om shrill, brilliant. He dc2i0om was playing Mozart. The child’s face went pale with anger at the sound. She turned, and went i0om out, closing both doors behind her to shut out the noise. The shrill, rapid movement of the piccolo music x3dc2i0m seemed to possess the air, it was useless to try to shut it out. The man i0om went on playing to himself, measured and insistent. dc2i0om In the frosty evening the dc2i0om 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 8x3dc2iom . |
