Leonard--
"because, she said, she'd heard I was a great hand at it.
She wanted something lively, and I tried just as hard as I
could to play something like that. But I couldn't. I played
something that was terrible--it just played itself--it seemed
as if something was lost that could never be found again.
And before I got through, Naomi came at me, and tore the violin
from me, and--SWORE. And she said, 'You big-eyed brat,
how did you know THAT?' Then she took me by the arm--
and she hurt me, too, I can tell you--and she put me right out
in the rain and slammed the door."
"The rude, unmannerly creature!" said Janet indignantly.
"Oh, no, she was quite in the right," said Felix composedly.
"It served me right for what I played. You see, she didn't
know I couldn't help playing it. I suppose she thought I did
it on purpose."
"What on earth did you play, child?"
"I don't know." Felix shivered. "It was awful--it was dreadful.
It was fit to break you heart. But it HAD to be played, if I played
anything at all."
"I don't understand what you mean--I declare I don't,"
said Janet in bewilderment.
"I think we'll change the subject of conversation," said Mr. Leonard.
It was a month later when "the simple creature, Maggie" appeared at
the manse door one evening and asked for the preached.
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