?"

"Candles!" he repeated, putting the piccolo to his mouth and blowing a
few piercing, preparatory notes.

"Yes, little Christmas-tree candles--blue ones and red ones, in
boxes--Shall you, Father?"

"We'll see--if I see any--"

"But SHALL you?" she insisted desperately. She wisely mistrusted his
vagueness.

But he was looking unheeding at the music. Then suddenly the piccolo
broke forth, wild, shrill, brilliant. He was playing Mozart. The child's
face went pale with anger at the sound. She turned, and went out,
closing both doors behind her to shut out the noise.

The shrill, rapid movement of the piccolo music seemed to possess the
air, it was useless to try to shut it out. The man went on playing
to himself, measured and insistent. In the frosty evening the sound
carried. People passing 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 dances, also at swell balls.
So the vivid piping sound tickled the darkness.

He played on till about seven o'clock; he did not want to go out too
soon, in spite of the early closing of the public houses. He never went
with the stream, but made a side current of his own. His wife said he
was contrary. When he went into the middle room to put on his collar and
tie, the two little girls were having their hair brushed, the baby was
in bed, there was a hot smell of mince-pies baking in the oven.

"You won't forget our candles, will you, Father?" asked Millicent, with
assurance now.

"I'll see," he answered.

His wife watched him as he put on his overcoat and hat. He was
well-dressed, handsome-looking. She felt there was a curious glamour
about him. It made her feel bitter. He had an unfair advantage--he was
free to go off, while she must stay at home with the children.

"There's no knowing what time you'll be home," she said.

"I shan't be late," he answered.

"It's easy to say so," she retorted, with some contempt. He took his
stick, and turned towards the door.

"Bring the children some candles for their tree, and don't be so
selfish," she said.

"All right," he said, going out.

"Don't say ALL RIGHT if you never mean to do it," she cried, with sudden
anger, following him to the door.

His figure stood large and shadowy in the darkness.

"How many do you want?" he said.

"A dozen," she said. "And holders too, if you can get them," she added,
with barren bi