mas and New Year's day, and was set up in the space left for it
between the bookshelves. Books continued to flow in; books of all
sorts--science and art, history and biography, poetry and general
literature. And Lois would have developed into a bookworm, had not the
piano exercised an almost equal charm upon her. Listening to Mrs.
Barclay's music at first was an absorbing pleasure; then Mrs. Barclay
asked casually one day "Shall I teach you?"

"O, you could not!" was Lois's answer, given with a breath and a flush
of excitement.

"Let us try," said Mrs. Barclay, smiling. "You might learn at least
enough to accompany yourself. I have never heard your voice. Have you a
voice?"

"I do not know what you would call a voice," said Lois, smiling.

"But you sing?"

"Hymns. Nothing else."

"Have you a hymn-book? with music, I mean?"

Lois brought one. Mrs. Barclay played the accompaniment of a familiar
hymn, and Lois sang.

"My dear," exclaimed the former when she had done, "that is delicious!"

"Is it?"

"Your voice is very fine; it has a peculiar and uncommon richness. You
must let me train that voice."

"I should like to sing hymns as well as I _can_," Lois answered,
flushing somewhat.

"You would like to sing other things, too."

"Songs?"

"Yes. Some songs are beautiful."

"I never liked much those I have heard."

"Why not?"

"They seemed rather foolish."

"Did they! The choice must have been unfortunate. Where did you hear
them?"

"In New York. In company there. The voices were sometimes delightful;
but the words--"

"Well, the words?"

"I wondered how they could like to sing them. There was nothing in them
but nonsense."

"You are a very severe critic!"

"No," said Lois deprecatingly; "but I think hymns are so much better."

"Well, we will see. Songs are not the first thing; your voice must be
trained."

So a new element came into the busy life of that winter; and music now
made demands on time and attention which Lois found it a little
difficult to meet, without abridging the long reading hours and
diligent studies to which she had hitherto been giving all her spare
time. But the piano was so alluring! And every morsel of real music
that Mrs. Barclay touched was so entrancing to Lois. To Lois; Madge did
not care about it, except for the wonder of seeing Mrs. Barclay's
fingers fly over the keys; and Charity took quite a different view
again.

"Mother," she said one evening to the old l