e stiff with standing. M. Simon had a temper, and at times he
was particularly cross, and said all sorts of unhappy things to her.

Tears at times, and childish grief over the dreadful weariness in her
arms, but with it all not one word of remonstrance or complaint. Felix
Simon knew everything. Her father knew what was best.

The violin would swing round to the left, and she would lose sight of
her elbow under it. There was nothing to do but to straighten up till
the instrument stood in a line with her fat little turned up nose, and
that elbow was in sight again. Then, that right wrist! How it did ache
with the long, slow motions with the bow. And her limbs grew stiff with
standing in one position till they fairly ached.

If the violin was heavy, she would not mind it, and if she was tired,
she would keep her eyes fixed on the strings and see that the bow lay
flat and square on them as it went up and down, up and down, from the
tip to the handle, over and over, again and again. Whatever happened,
she would keep on. She was going to play. This was the way to learn. She
would have patience.

At home the same thing was repeated. Three hours practice every day with
the dumb violin. And not only every day in the week, Sundays and all,
but every week. Three whole months passed away, and then they said she
had learned the positions, and the right motions. She could have some
rosin on her bow and begin to play. This was progress. She was really
getting on. Now she was to have some music. Nothing but the very dullest
kinds of exercises; still, it was music, or something like it.

Long sustained notes by the hour. The exercises were all written out
with a pen by her master. Nothing but long slow notes. Not very
interesting, certainly. She would not have agreed with you. To get a
good tone, to make one pure, smooth note was worth the trying for, and
she was content.

The bow hardly moved, so slowly did she draw it up and down. The right
arm stretched out to the full length, and then slowly back again, while
the wrist bent slowly and gracefully. If she obtained nothing else, she
would have a strong, clear tone, and learn to make a grand, full sweep
with her bow. Speed and brilliancy would come in good time. Strength,
power, and purity of tone were the things worth trying to reach. She
would have no feeble, short strokes, but the wide, bold movements of a
master hand.

As the weeks grew to months, her fingers and arms gained