broken. There is a good fairy called Hard Work, and another
hight, Hope, and both of these were standing guard. David must have
been happy, because he never thought of happiness, its causes or
effects. There was a new set to his jaw that meant far more--if you
were looking for signs of the future--than the youthful enthusiasm once
reflected on his face. So the witch, shrieking grisly maledictions,
rode away to vent her spite on colicky babies and gouty old men.

There was one thing the fairies could not guard against, perhaps
because they had not been warned. Sometimes the witch perceived that
David was not alone. Those occasions were not many: a few minutes now
and then when household errands were prolonged a trifle, or lemonade
and cookies, sweetened by the aunt's good wishes, were carried to him.
And sometimes he went down-stairs to listen to a song and to tell the
singer that her high _b_-flat was unmistakably easier. There was no
great harm in that, to be sure. But the witch, baleful creature that
she was, took a hint and hatched a wicked plot.

They had a bond, you see. They faced the same adventure. It did them
good to compare notes of progress; and an audience was needed if they
were to make a jest of setbacks, such as a throat that seemed all burrs
or an idea that had for the moment lost its charm. Also he needed some
one to remind him that he took too little sleep and never exercised.
He would have been wiser if he had listened. Instead, he laughed at
her and said, "Work never kills, and in summer I always get thin." But
evidence of her concern always left him pleasantly glowing.

In August she took her vacation. But she did not go away. Part of
each day she spent in his room, putting it to rights and keeping it
sweet and clean. She liked to do that, because he never failed to note
the result of her labors or to thank her. When she had finished her
sweeping and dusting, she would sit for an hour or more studying the
sketches and plans he had left on easel or table. She thought it a
marvel that a young man could think out a church so proportioned that
its harmonies set one to dreaming and thinking, so devised that it
would not fall down though the storms of centuries charged against it.
And it was a relief to think of him and his work; it took her mind from
an ugly little fear lurking in her heart. Her throat did not always
behave as a well-meaning throat should.

Sometimes she studied als