was a very kindly light in the
look which he gave his daughter as she left the room.

Chapter XI

An Infant Prodigy

"By the sweet power of music: therefore, the poet
Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones and floods:
Since naught so stockish, hard, and full of rage,
But music for the time doth change his nature."

--_Merchant of Venice. Shakespeare._

Lonely and distrait Bee wandered about the house the next day unable to
settle down to anything.

"What if father should go away again for ten years," she thought with
sudden dismay. "I don't believe that I could live. I could not stand it
without him now. What if he should!"

Troubled by this thought she sat down on the veranda steps, and leaned
listlessly against a post. For some time she sat there musing, but
presently was aroused from her meditations by the sound of music. Bee
raised her head and listened intently.

"I have heard that several times of late," she said, glad of the
diversion. "I wonder where it comes from? I am going to find out."

She rose, listened again to catch the strain, then began to walk in the
direction from whence it came. Through the garden and orchard, across
the fields to the arbor vitae hedge which separated their land from their
neighbor's she went, the music becoming more and more distinct.
Beethoven's Romance in G was being played, although Bee did not know
what it was, and the musician was executing it with wonderful technique.

Always susceptible to the influence of music the girl stood spellbound.
Presently the performance stopped abruptly, and a sweet voice--sweet
despite a certain querulous note in it--said sharply:

"Percival, that last was entirely too fast. What would Heinrich say to
you?"

"I don't give a cent what he'd say," retorted a boyish voice petulantly.
"I'm tired of practicing. I want to have some fun. I guess I'm a boy as
well as a violinist."

"Don't be silly, Percival. Of course you are. Now practice just one
hour more, and we will see about that pony this afternoon."

"You said that yesterday," returned the boy's voice sulkily, "but you
didn't do a thing about it."

"I will today, dear, sure. I was too tired yesterday."

"Honor bright?"

"Yes; honor bright."

"All right. If you don't attend to it today I won't touch this old
violin again this summer. So there!"

Beatrice was an unwilling listener to the foregoing dialogue. Not
wishing that her presence shoul