anced around it, fit for the court of Apollo. Its
proportions had obviously been assigned by some music-loving soul. It
occupied two-thirds of the lower floor of the house, and its high
ceiling was a noticeable feature. The furniture had all been made at the
factory; the floor-mats were woven there; and one gazing around him
might well have wondered to what useful or ornamental purpose the green
willows growing everywhere in Spenersberg Valley might not be applied.
The very pictures hanging on the wall--engraved likenesses of the great
masters Mozart and Beethoven--had their frames of well-woven willow
twigs; and the rack which held the books and sheets of music was
ornamented on each side with raised wreaths of flowers wrought by deft
hands from the same pliant material.

At the piano, in the centre of the room, sat Sister Benigna--by her
side, Elise Loretz.

It seemed, when Elise's father entered with the stranger, as if there
might be a suspension of the performance, but Loretz said, "Two
listeners don't signify: we promise to make no noise. Sit down, sir:
give me your bag;" and taking Leonhard's satchel, he retired with it to
a corner, where he sat down, and with his elbows on his knees, his head
between his hands, prepared himself to listen.

Sister Benigna said to her companion, "It is time we practiced before an
audience perhaps;" and they went on as if nothing had happened.

And sitting in that cool room on the eve of a scorching and distracted
day, is it any wonder that Leonhard composed himself to accept any
marvel that might present itself? Once across the threshold of the
Every-day, and there is nothing indeed for which one should not be
prepared.

If in mood somewhat less enthusiastic than that of our traveler we look
in upon that little company, what shall we see?

In the first place, inevitably, Sister Benigna. But describe a picture,
will you, or the mountains, or the sea? It must have been something for
the Spenersberg folk to know that such a woman dwelt among them, yet
probably two-thirds of her influence was unconsciously put forth and as
unconsciously received. They knew that in musical matters she inspired
them and exacted of them to the uttermost, but they did not and could
not know how much her life was worth to all of them, and that they lived
on a higher plane because of those half dozen wonderful notes of hers,
and the unflagging enthusiasm which needed but the name of love-feast or
fes